


Tumblr Ficlets

by ohjustpeachy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 115
Words: 104,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: A collection of enough tooth-rotting fluff to last a year, all in one place.





	1. A hoarse whispered "kiss me"

Tony Stark has always been a man of action. The workshop was where he did his best thinking, but outside of that, he tended to lurch into action before he thought about it. So, when it looked like a shot meant for Tony was heading for Steve instead, he didn’t even hesitate to throw himself in front of it. He heard Steve’s yell from the distance, and the last thing he remembered thinking was that he was going to be in a boatload of shit for this one. Steve would break out his most serious Cap Voice, the one reserved almost exclusively for Tony disobeying plans on the field.

Then everything went black.

When Tony wakes up again, he’s in the med bay, his least favorite place on earth, aside from, _maybe_ Fury’s office. He squints, the light bright and way too much all at once, and finds the team surrounding him. Natasha leaps to her feet before anyone else can.

“Jesus, thank god. Tony, I swear if you scare us like that again I will personally eviscerate you. What were you thinking!” Her voice is high and strained, like she’s trying and failing not to exude too much emotion all at once. She’s gripping his hand like if she lets go she’ll lose him for good though, and Tony just smiles weakly up at her.

“Yeah, what she said, Tony,” Bruce’s quiet, calm voice chimes in from the corner he’s tucked himself into. He’s basically wringing his hands, and Tony’s feels guilty, upsetting him like that.

“I didn’t think, I’m sorry, I just saw Steve there and went for it… Wait. Where’s Steve?” Tony asks, doing another sweep of the room. Everyone was there. Everyone, of course, except Steve. The guy he literally dove in front of a bullet to save. Tony does his best to ignore the painful twist his stomach gives at this realization.

Clint and Nat lock eyes over Tony’s bed, while Thor and Bruce just shrug and shuffle their feet, not meeting Tony’s eyes.

“He was here, before, but he went back to the tower to deal with clean up and debrief…” Nat’s excuse is weak and she knows it, giving Tony a rueful look. Tony knows Nat knows the way he feels about Steve, why this hurts him so much, but the rest of the team doesn’t, and he doesn’t need anymore embarrassment today, so he just gives his best look of indifference and turns his head. He’s asleep again before he even feels himself fading.

–

Steve isn’t there the next morning, when Tony wakes up to the deliciously greasy breakfast sandwich Nat snuck in for him, or by dinnertime.

He doesn’t come the next day either. 

During the three days Tony is trapped in a hospital bed, his resentment only grows. Steve didn’t have to love him back. Hell, he couldn’t exactly do that when he doesn’t even _know_ how Tony feels, but he’s the goddamn team leader. He loved reminding Tony of that fact, and he should be here. If it was Steve, Tony would have to be physically removed from the premises, but then again, they hadn’t always seen eye to eye on things.

When Tony finally gets to go home, he’s weaker and slower moving than he’s been since Afghanistan, and he hates it. Wants to go find Steve and yell at him, ask what Tony would have to do for him to finally take notice. But instead, he locks himself in the lab, focusing on fixing his amor, strengthening it again so next time… well, next time wouldn’t happen, and Steve wouldn’t have to go about ignoring him for a week.

He’s struggling to move from one side of the lab to the other when a voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“You’ll rip out your stitches.” It’s Steve, of course, showing up like a white knight when Tony is at his weakest. “Let me help,” he says.

Tony glares at him. “‘Let me help,’ he says. Tony’s voice is taut and angry, his eyes flashing. 

“You know when I could’ve used your _help_? When I was confined to medical for three days, Cap. When a bullet grazed my already fucked up chest. When I kept waiting like an idiot for you to show up and just… see how I was!” Tony’s voice cracks on the last word, and he hates himself for it.

Steve just looks at him, guilt and helplessness battling for dominance on his stupid, perfect face. His eyes lock on Tony’s and he looks at him, beseeching.

“Tony, I’m sorry. You’re right, I should’ve come. I just… Seeing you like that, what you did, for me was…” Steve’s voice breaks this time and Tony feels something in him dissolve, just a little.

“Would’ve done it for anyone, Cap,” Tony says lightly, not trusting himself t say much more.

“You would have. But it was me, and it’s different because I… “ Steve appears to be at war with himself, torn between telling Tony how he feels and keeping things professional like he was so apt to do when Tony was involved.

“Different why! If it was you, I would have been there, I would have been out of my _mind_, Steve! I would have had to know for myself that you were still in one piece,” Tony is nearly shouting now, and he grabs at his chest when he feels the stitches strain.

Steve is by his side in no time. He places a hand over the arc reactor, raises his eyes to Tony’s and for a minute they just… stand there like that. Tony, nearly coming to pieces every way he can, and Steve holding his hand over Tony’s heart, feeling it beat, sure and steady, against his palm.

Something seems to snap inside him, and Steve’s eyes are a blue fire, wide and bright and bottomless. He stares at Tony with an intensity Tony almost can’t stomach, but he never turns away from a challenge, and this, if nothing else, is just that.

Steve opens his mouth, still so close to Tony, and Tony can see the rest of his resolve fall away.

“Kiss me,” Steve says, his voice raw and hoarse now, nothing more than a strained whisper, full of emotion.

And, well. Tony Stark has always been a man of action. He surges forward and brings their mouths together, a messy clash of tongues and teeth and desperation so all-consuming Tony wonders distantly if this might finally be his undoing.

They pull away, breathing heavily, and Steve pulls Tony against him, holding him carefully, mindful of his stitches, like he can’t bear the thought of Tony being hurt ever again.

“I should have been there,” Steve says again, and Tony just nods, mute, his heart and brain racing to make sense of the situation. “I couldn’t face seeing you like that, knowing that I came so close to losing before… Before… “ Steve doesn’t finish the sentence and Tony doesn’t want him to. He gets it now, and it hits him with as much for as that bullet had.

“I love you, too,” Tony says instead. Because he’s almost died more times than he can count, and Steve deserves to know, and both of them deserve to try to cobble together whatever messy happiness they can.

“I love you. So much.” This time, when Steve slots their mouths together it’s deep and long and sweet. A promise.


	2. Devouring Kisses

It happens sometimes, when they look at each other. It was like something just clicked, and just like that, Tony could glance at Steve and know, when something was bothering him, or if they were out and one of them wanted to leave. If Tony just… _needed_ Steve, or vice versa. It was weird, and it didn’t take long before the team noticed and started commenting on the way they would gaze at each other all the time, joking that it was putting them off their breakfast, but it wasn’t like they could help it. They’d always been good together, in sync somehow, and now it was just different… _more_.

It was a Friday night, and Thor had showed up with Asgardian mead, which was always a good time for Tony. Steve couldn’t drink often, and when he did, he always ended up telling anyone who would listen how amazing Tony is. This included one particularly memorable time, in which he nearly punched through a wall when he heard that Tony wasn’t single. Those were the early days of their relationship, and Steve still flushed red when Tony brought it up. And sure, he told Tony those kinds of things himself all the time, but it was different, seeing him so uninhibited and _happy_.

Tony was watching everything from a couch in the corner, this time, laughing quietly while Steve explained, his face deadly serious, about how smart Tony was while Natasha nodded, bemused. He watches as a stray piece of blond hair falls across Steve’s face, and when he brings a hand up to fix it, a small smile on his face, Steve’s eyes find Tony’s and there it is again.

_Click_.

Tony can feel it, nearly across the room, and he smirks, raising his eyebrows at Steve and nodding. He makes his way over to Steve and Nat, and wraps his arms around Steve from behind.

“I think this one’s flagged, wouldn’t you say, Nat?” Tony smirks at her.

“I don’t know about him, but _I’m_ definitely done,” Nat gives them a pointed look and turns on her heel to talk to Clint instead.

Steve turns in Tony’s arms and looks at him, something burning behind his eyes, not breaking eye contact. After a beat, he grabs Tony’s hand and nearly drags him off to the elevator, not saying a word to anyone else. Tony thinks he hears Rhodey say something along the lines of _here they go again_, but doesn’t stop long enough to be sure. Steve’s hand is warm and sure in his and … oh. They reach the elevator and Steve doesn’t even wait for the doors to slide all the way shut before pressing his lips to Tony’s, like he’s testing something.

“It’s weird, right?” Steve asks, voice husky and deep. Tony doesn’t have to ask what he means before nodding.

“It’s working out for us, though,” Tony says, inexplicably breathless given that nothing had even happened yet.

Steve hums a response and moves forward, pressing Tony in against the wall and kissing him again, a familiar collision of smiling lips and tongues, edging on desperate this time. Steve’s lips are _everywhere_ and Tony definitely can’t breathe now. When the elevator door pings, Steve is still clutching Tony to him, mouth making its way from his neck back up to his mouth, and Tony swats at the buttons until the doors slide shut again.

Yeah, their telepathy thing was definitely working out just fine.


	3. Living Room Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can I request a fic with sick Tony and Steve taking care of him, and he had other plans for proposing but then he just looks at Tony and he feels so much love he blurts out a proposal on the spot <3

Obviously, Steve didn’t _plan_ on proposing to Tony in their living room.

He’d spent months finding a ring that was just right, of course he didn’t mean to blurt out _Marry me_, while Tony was grumbling at him from the couch, but then again, their relationship had ever gone according to any kind of plan. Steve had looked at what felt like hundreds of rings, but none of them felt like Tony. He was sure he would know the right ring when he found it, and he was more than patient about looking. He’d found the person he was meant to spend the rest of his life with seventy years into a future he was never meant to be in. He knew a thing or two about being patient, about waiting and wanting.

In the end, he was right. He wandered into a little jewelry shop in Brooklyn, not far from the house he’d grown up in, and there it was. The man in the store said it had just come in that morning, and asked, with a knowing look, if Steve was interested in taking a closer look.

He was.

It was meteorite, the man told him, a unique iron-nickel alloy comprised, mostly, of space debris. Steve hadn’t known such a thing even existed, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as the man told him about it. It’s undeniably the ring he’d been waiting for; it couldn’t be more perfect for Tony. Steve asks the man about engraving, arranges to pick the ring up and bring it home a week later, and left the little store with a new spring in his step, wondering why it had taken him so long to come to Brooklyn. His hometown had never let him down.

After he found the ring, he figured he would let Colonel Rhodes know what he was planning. He was the closest thing Tony had to family, after all. It was only fair.

Rhodey fixed him with a long, considering look that made Steve’s palms sweat despite the fact that they’d been friends for years by then.

“You’re asking me permission to marry Tony Stark?” Rhodey finally said, before he burst into laughter. “Am I supposed to give you the shovel talk?”

“I mean, I just thought… you guys are like brothers and he doesn’t have any other family, aside from the team, and… ” Steve feels heat rush to his cheeks. Maybe this had been a stupid idea, after all.

“No, no, I’m messing with you.” Rhodey places a reassuring hand on Steve’s arm and he looks down at it doubtfully. “It’s cute, really. But I should be thanking you. Man’s a handful, to say the least. But I’ve never seen him as… _settled_, as he is with you. You deserve a medal or something, Rogers. Go, ask him, he’ll be pissed he didn’t get to do it first, but you already know that.”

Steve laughs. It had crossed his mind.

–

So, Steve had the ring, he had _permission_, and he had a plan. He would bring Tony to the shawarma shop they went to after the Battle of New York. Back to where it all began. He remembered sitting, head in his hands without an appetite, thinking about the fact that he was completely, stupidly in love with Tony Stark, had just watched him fall from _outer space_, and _still_ wasn’t sure what to do about his feelings.

They’d come a _long_ way since then.

What Steve hadn’t counted on was Tony getting sick, nothing more than a cold, really, and spending the entire weekend on the couch, grousing about being sick. Not that Steve had ever been able to turn down an opportunity to make Tony relax for a few extra hours, but still. It wasn’t his fault that Tony made such a cute sick person.

“_Hh’eHiiEsh! Snf!_ Ugh, Steven. Go on without me, we’ve had a solid run, right? This is the end.” Tony sniffles a little into a handful of tissues, and Steve is overwhelmed, suddenly, by a rush of affection, followed closely by the knowledge that he would happily spend the rest of his life listening to Tony Stark ramble on about everything from equations to the perils of catching a cold.

It was so stupid, so endearing, and so _Tony_, who had survived countless near-death experiences only to make a stuffy nose sound like the end of the world, that Steve’s mouth charged way, way, ahead of his brain and he just, went for it.

“Marry me,” he says, nearly a whisper, and he’s only surprised for a minute before a sense of calm washes over him. He’d never been as sure about anything than he is right now. “Tony. Will you marry me?” He repeats it, clear and sure this time.

Tony stares at him, eyes tired and red-rimmed, his nose a little pink. “I… what? I mean, _god yes_, but…” He trails off, eyes shining, and nearly climbs into Steve’s lap to kiss him for as long as his stuffy nose would allow. When they pull apart, laughing and happier than either can ever recall being, Steve remembers.

“Hold on, I have… I got- there’s a ring!” Steve is off like a shot, rummaging around in the bedroom and back at Tony’s side in no time, velvet box in his hand.

“I had a plan, I was going to take you to the shawarma place and… I got ahead of myself. You make me crazy in the best way, Tony Stark. You helped me make sense of a new century, and more than that, you gave me a home here. You make me happier than I ever could have imagined; will you be my husband?” He holds out the ring and even though he knows the answer, Steve’s heart is pounding.

“_Steven_. Yes. I love you.” Tony’s voice is hoarse and stuffy-sounding, sure, but it’s full of emotion and love, too, and his hand shakes a little as Steve moves closer to put the ring on, cool and smooth against his skin. The engraving catches his eye and he stops Steve to ask about it before he can put it on all the way. Steve smiles a little nervously.

“Oh, it’s um, the coordinates of the tower. Our first home together,” Steve shrugs a little, like Tony might laugh or think it’s silly. Instead, Tony swallows several times around the lump in his throat. When Steve goes on to explain about the iron in the ring, and the space particles, and the fact that he found it in Brooklyn, well, _then_ the tears come in earnest.

“Come here,” is all he manages to choke out, pulling Steve toward him again, kissing him with all the things he couldn’t say just yet. When they break apart, ring securely on Tony’s finger and both of them grinning like loons, it occurs to Tony.

“You’re totally going to get sick now,” he says.

“Probably, but you know, _in sickness and in health_ and all that, right?” Steve shrugs, smiling at he looks down at their clasped hands.

Tony just laughs and kisses him again. “Right.”


	4. Kiss it better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have an exam tomorrow and I'm really nervous so I'm gonna distract myself by sending you a prompt, no pressure to fill it though! Steve gets injured on a mission while Tony's away on a business trip, then Steve's in the hospital and he hears his worried husband in the hallway saying he needs to see Steve now, and then there's kisses and cuddles :) Established relationship fluff is so good :D

“Are you kidding me? Come on,_ you know who I am!_” Tony’s voice reverberates through the otherwise quiet hallway of the hospital. If anyone _hadn’t_ known who he was before, they sure would after this.

“My husband is in there. Yes _that_ Stark, how many do you know!?” Tony’s voice is ragged, caught somewhere between frustrated annoyance and panic now, loud and worried enough that it makes Steve’s eyes flutter open, squinting blearily up at the too-bright lights.

An overwhelming sense of relief washes over him when he registers that it’s Tony outside the door, wants to call out to the nurses that _yes_, they were married, and _no_ they hadn’t gone public with it yet, but he sure does regret not listening to Tony when he insisted they do just that. But, wait. Tony shouldn’t even be here. He was supposed to be in London. Or Shanghai. Maybe it was Tokyo… Steve’s head feels swimmy again, and suddenly more sleep sounded _so good_. He’d been hit with something in a battle, but that was all he knew. Fury was supposed to come by later and give him the details since he was still a little fuzzy on what had exactly happened. Steve shudders at the thought. Maybe Tony knew what happened and Fury wouldn’t have to come after all… God, all he wanted was for Tony to be here, in his room and in the bed with him. Everything would be okay, then.

“He’s my husband, Rogers-Stark, look AGAIN!” Tony’s pissed; Steve isn’t too out of it to understand that much. “I’ll make another donation if you would _just-_”

The door nearly flies off the hinges with the force of Tony’s entrance into Steve’s room, but neither of them registers the damage. Tony is at Steve’s side too fast to think about anything else just then.

“Tony,” Steve says warmly, though his eyebrows come together in confusion. “You were away. You’re not supposed to be here… S’posed to be… um….” He trails off, uncertain blue eyes meeting Tony’s, hoping he could fill in the blanks.

“I was in Hong Kong, but it doesn’t matter. Honey, Natasha called me, you jumped in front of a _building_? What were you doing? You don’t have a suit of armor, Steve! You might have super strength, but that doesn’t _matter_ if you’re crushed underneath something!” Tony’s voice is desperate.

“There were kids in there, Tony, I didn’t have a choice,” Steve murmurs, eyes falling shut when one of Tony’s hands finds it way into his hair, the other cradling Steve’s face like it was something precious.

“A concussion. _Four_ broken ribs. Steven, please. Promise you’ll wait until I’m in the country next time before you go diving in front of falling edifices, hm?” Tony tries for a smile but it fails about halfway, never quite meeting his eyes. Because there would be a next time, they both knew that, but that didn’t mean it would ever get any easier.

Steve hums a sleepy agreement, looking like he was mere minutes from sleep. 

“C’mere. Make sure m’all in one piece?” Steve _must_ be feeling banged up if he was talking like that, but it’s all the invitation Tony needs before he’s squeezing himself carefully into the bed beside his husband, burying his face in Steve’s neck and running his hands down the length of his chest, as if taking inventory, making sure for himself that Steve really was all in one piece. He kisses Steve just then, a chaste press to his dry lips, a _thank you,_ a _thank god_, a _never scare me like this again_ kind of kiss that Steve smiles into. 

“Nurse Meanie out there isn’t going to like this,” Tony says, but he’s kissing the words into Steve’s cheek, and he sure as hell isn’t going to be moving any time soon. He feels Steve give a tired little shrug, turning his face so it was resting against Tony’s chest, curling into him as best he could with his broken ribs.

Tony would write two checks, if it came down to it. He rests a hand on Steve’s chest, satisfied by the steady rhythm beneath, and closes his eyes.


	5. First Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have their first fight as a couple. To clear his mind, Steve goes on a run and doesn’t cut it short when it starts pouring rain. Tony convinces himself that he doesn’t care that much (even though he does), so when Steve eventually gets sick a few days later, Tony acts like nothing’s wrong. This is until he finally caves and helps his man.

People are always saying that Steve and Tony are the perfect couple. There are tweets and speculation about them daily, and they can hardly go out to dinner without there being a think piece on their restaurant choices, these days. Some people claim to have seen their relationship coming for years, and Tony likes to indulge them sometimes, say that he’d _wanted_ it for years before Steve ever gave him the time of day. Privately, though, Tony knows Steve had always felt the same way; it just took them a while to get their ducks in a row.**  
**

As much as they love each other, though, and as much as Tony tries his best to shield Steve from the prying eyes and questions of the public, sometimes it just gets to be too much. It’s after they get brunch one afternoon, Steve grabbing Tony’s hand and ducking his head away from yet another set of cameras, Tony doing his best to charm them just enough, that something in Steve just snaps. He knows neither one of them signed up for this kind of life, constantly hounded and followed, but Tony grew up with it. He knows how to handle it, but _Steve_, Steve isn’t used to being a headline, a face on a screen for people to comment on, and now it’s inescapable. By the time they get back, he’s frustrated, sullen and quiet and Tony knows something is wrong, but he can’t seem to pry the answer from him.

“Steve can you just tell me what I did? Please, sweetheart, we can get through it,” Tony pleads with him. He’s not sure what he did, but it has to be _something_ for Steve to react like this. He never shuts Tony out. It’s usually the opposite, in fact, with Tony locking himself away in the lab when he’s feeling bad or frustrated about something, only coming out when Steve physically carries him. Without the ability to lift Steve and carry him away from his problems, Tony is stuck with words alone, and those are failing him.

“Enough _talking_ Tony, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? I’ll never get used to this, this lifestyle. I’ll never fit that mold and I don’t want to,” his voice breaks at the end and Tony is more confused than ever. They were perfect together. They disagreed every now and then, but it’s usually resolved by the time they go to bed; they’ve come a long way in their years of knowing each other.

Before Tony can say another word, Steve’s out the door, slamming it behind him, and Tony is left, bewildered, in the silent kitchen. Maybe Steve could run off his problems.

–

The longer Tony stays home alone, though, watching as the weather moves from sunny to cloudy to an outright downpour, the more angry and hurt he becomes. _The weather is fitting,_ he thinks to himself, ignoring the fact that Steve is still out there in it somewhere, running away from whatever fight they were having, from Tony, from _them_. Well, fine, Tony could ignore everything too. He leaves a towel by the front door (he’s hurt but he’s not _heartless_), and tucks himself away in the lab for the rest of the day. He misses Steve coming home, completely drenched, looking sadly at the towel Tony left for him, and is asleep on the futon by the time he came down to talk.

They walk on eggshells around each other for two days, the silence nearly suffocating them, but both too stubborn to break it. Tony misses Steve though, like a limb. He misses his stupid, floppy hair, and their soft bed, and the way Steve always pressed his insanely cold feet against Tony to warm them up at night. What were they even fighting _about?_ Tony didn’t know. He’d never known, and he couldn’t let any more tense, wordless moments pass between them. He shoves a hand through his hair and makes his way upstairs. He’d make this right; Steve was too important to him to lose.

Tony finds Steve curled up on their bed, after checking the whole penthouse for his missing boyfriend. His hair’s a mess, and his blue eyes look glazed and tired. Tony feels his stomach twist at the sight. Of _course_ he got sick after running in the rain for hours the other day. He can’t believe it didn’t occur to him sooner. Steve stirs beneath his blankets at the sound of the door opening.

“Steve, why didn’t you come find me? Honey…” Tony crosses the room in one stride, bringing a hand to Steve’s face. It’s warm, but not feverish, not yet, at least. Steve sighs at the touch, turning his head to kiss Tony’s palm.

“I’m sorry,” is all Steve says, his voice thick and raspy sounding.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I didn’t even know what we were fighting about for a while there. We can talk about that later, though. For now, why don’t you tell me how long you’ve been feeling bad?” Tony brushes Steve’s hair back from his forehead, kissing the space beneath.

Steve coughs and then winces, giving Tony an apologetic look. “Yesterday morning,” he admits, rubbing tiredly at his nose.

“Have you taken anything?” Tony asks, tempted to run to the store and pick up a year’s worth of cold supplies regardless.

“Uh, this morning…I think?” Steve mumbles. His nostrils flare a little around the edges, already a little pink, and Tony hands him the box of tissues that had fallen to the floor.

“_Huh…uhshhoo! Itshh!_ Sorry,” Steve says, sniffling, “Bless me.” He sounds tired and sick and sad and Tony _hates_ it.

Without another word, he goes to the kitchen and grabs a few bottles of water, then digs out the cold medicine, and a pain killer just in case. When he gets it all upstairs, he slips off his jeans and into a pair of joggers, perfect for lounging in bed.

Steve looks torn between relief and guilt when he returns. “Tony, you don’t have to do all this, not after I stormed out like that… I was just…” Steve breaks off to cough again and Tony quiets him with a soft brush of his lips.

“It was just nothing, okay? We can talk about it when you’re feeling better if you insist, but it’s really okay. I think I get it, actually. It’s a lot, the eyes on us at all times. The internet loves us and you don’t love it back. We can work on the privacy thing,” Tony promises him quietly, by now tucked warmly into bed with Steve. He really had missed this. “For now, just come here.”

Steve lets Tony pull him in against him, sinking deeper into the sheets and Tony with a long, stuffy sigh. He smiles a little, tentative and sleepy, when Tony runs his hands through Steve’s hair, murmuring soft, silly things in his ear. Things about running in the rain, and leaving the life-risking to Tony, _didn’t he know it was kind of his thing?_ Things like, _I’m sorry,_ and we’ll get through anything, and promises never to let Steve run too far, too fast.

It isn’t long before Steve presses his nose into Tony’s collarbone, leaning in for a quick kiss before he falls asleep. When Tony feels the sudden, icy press of Steve’s feet against his calves, he just smiles and pulls him a little closer.


	6. The perfect gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt for tony's birthday: pining steve spends weeks trying to find the perfect birthday present for tony, ending in them getting together :D

The problem with shopping for Tony Stark was that he wasn’t really a _things_ kind of guy. He liked nice clothes, that much was clear, though that was one thing Steve would never even _attempt_ to do for him. If Tony’s pointed comments about taking him shopping (and several disheartening headlines) were anything to go by, Steve was still a little behind when it came to fashion.**  
**

Tony liked to build things, too. He loved tech and gadgets and making improvements on his improvements. It was amazing to watch, really, Tony’s brown eyes lost in thought, the way his whole face lit up when he talked about a new idea, how his tongue stuck out just the tiniest bit in the corner when he was really focused, and… Steve was getting lost in thought about the beauty of Tony Stark, and he was embarrassed to realize it wasn’t even the first time that day.

The point was, Tony liked buying things for the people he loved, would do anything for the team or his friends, but Steve kept trying to think of a time someone really went above and beyond for Tony and he was coming up empty. He wanted to give him something special for his birthday, something unique, that he couldn’t buy or build for himself. Something that said _I love you_ without being obvious about it. _God_, he was an embarrassment.

“Oh, that’s a serious face. Something on your mind, Bomb Pop?” Tony’s voice yanks Steve back to reality and he drops his sketchbook in surprise.

“Sorry, no. Uh, no. Just thinking. I want to do something nice for a friend and I can’t think of anything they might like,” Steve says, because he’d been looking for _weeks_, and Tony’s birthday was tomorrow. He was desperate enough to go to the source at this point.

Tony gives him a strange look before his eyes soften a little. “Only you would apologize about doing something nice,” he says.

Steve shrugs, wondering if his face was red or if it just felt that hot. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he points out. “That’s kind of the problem.”

“If you’re thinking about it this hard, you clearly care a lot about them, which is already something nice. People disregard it because it’s a cliche, but it really is the thought that counts,” Tony says. “Besides, I’m one hundred percent sure anyone would be crazy not to love _anything_ Captain America does for them.” Tony gives him a smile and picks up his sketchbook.

“Just relax Cap, sometimes the answer is staring you right in the face.” Their fingers brush when Tony hands the sketchbook back to him, and Steve has to fight back the urge to hold their hands there, grab Tony’s hand in his and tell him everything.

Instead, he swallows hard and gives Tony a weak smile. “Thanks, Tony. I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he says.

“Never doubted you for a minute,” Tony says with a wink, straightening his jacket and leaving the room with a little wave.

Steve looks down at the sketchbook in front of him and has to hold back a whoop of delight. Tony was right. The answer _was_ staring him in the face this whole time.

–

The next night, Steve forces himself to wait until after the team sings to Tony, gathering around an elaborate cake shaped like DUM-E, and given him their gifts, before following him into the common room. It was empty, quiet save for the background noise of the TV, and Tony looked relaxed. Happy, even.

“Hey, Steve. You ever figure out what to do about your friend?” Tony asks.

“I think I did,” Steve starts, then stops to clear his throat. He’d practiced what he wanted to say over and over this afternoon, but suddenly the words seem to dry up on his tongue. He was about to tell Tony how he felt. On his birthday, no less. What was he thinking?

“I did,” Steve repeats, determined. “You were right, actually,” he says.

“It’s not unheard of,” Tony smirks, raising his eyebrows. His eyes drop to the wrapped package in Steve’s hands. It’s simple brown paper, no name or card; overall, a very Steve Rogers gift.

“So, yeah. Uh, happy birthday, Tony,” Steve says quietly. He perches on the edge of the couch and hands Tony the gift, ignoring the fact that his hands are very clearly trembling as he does so.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Tony says, but his voice is soft now, grateful, and no matter what happens next, Steve is glad he was the one to put this particular look on Tony’s face.

Tony unwraps the paper slowly, gentle in a way Steve only sees in the lab, and he watches Tony’s eyes carefully, sees them go from expectant, to something hovering around confusion, and then landing on, Steve dares to think, hope.

He looks up at Steve, then back down at his lap. Steve had drawn Tony the way he’d fallen in love with him. Hair just shy of perfect, eyes bright and focused, tongue out, thinking hard about something. It wasn’t hard to put his feelings onto the page. He had drawn Tony countless times, often without thinking, and the lines came easily, love in every one of them.

“Steve,” Tony says, trailing off and staring at him like he didn’t dare continue. “This is… incredible. It’s so…” It’s rare that Tony Stark is without words, but as it happens, Steve has that effect on him sometimes.

“Happy birthday,” Steve says.

Tony’s eyes find Steve’s and they sit there like that for a minute, neither daring to move first, both wanting to desperately. Finally, Tony’s eyes drop to Steve’s lips, and it’s all Steve needs to move forward, bringing their lips together. It’s tentative and sweet at first, birthday wishes and cake and months of unsure, lingering touches, before it grows deeper, uncertainty melting away into something that just said _finally_, and _never stop_, and _I love you_.

“Huh,” Tony says when they finally break apart. “I didn’t think birthday wishes came true so quickly.”

Steve laughs, breathless and happy, before dragging him back down for another kiss.


	7. Disaster Birthday Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is put in charge of getting Tony to his surprise party without spilling the beans…you can imagine how that goes.

“Okay, let’s go through the plan one more time,” Steve says, and Rhodey nods, all business, while Peter heaves a sigh.

“Come on, again?” He wasn’t whining exactly, but he wasn’t far off. “I know the plan. I’ve been to space, remember? I think I can handle this,” Peter points out. Lately, this was his favorite point to make. He’s been to space, so he’s ready to learn to drive. He’s been to space, so he doesn’t have to study, et cetera. It’s Steve who sighs this time.

“Humor me,” he says. “What are you going to do?”

“Tell Mr. Stark I’m having girl problems and need to talk. Keep Mr. Stark out of the tower until eight o’clock,” Peter huffs.

“Good, and?” Rhodey prompts.

“Not ruin the surprise, or let him trick me into getting back here before eight,” Peter finishes. “Really, I’m not completely dense, you guys, I’ve—”

“Been to space!” Steve and Rhodey chorus, earning them the kind of glare only a long-suffering teenager can manage.

“I went from having no dad to having three,” Peter mutters as he leaves the kitchen.

“You’re welcome!” Steve calls to Peter’s retreating form. When he’s out of earshot, Steve turns to Rhodey. “He’s going to tell him isn’t he?”

“Oh, there’s no doubt,” Rhodey laughs.

The surprise party had been Steve’s idea. He wanted to celebrate Tony, have everyone he loved most in one place. Waiting until next year, when Tony turned fifty, would be the predictable thing to do, and he knew Tony would be expecting it then. Which was why they had to do it this year. Forty-nine was, as Tony loved to point out, a pointless birthday. Steve wanted to make it special.

Once the idea planted itself, Steve wasted no time involving Rhodey and Pepper, and between the three of them, and some help here and there from the rest of the team, they managed to pull off all the planning, the catering, and the guest list. And somehow, they’d landed on Peter being the one to keep Tony distracted enough to stay out of the house until everything was ready. Steve was nervous with just a few hours to go. He wanted everything to be perfect. There were red and gold balloons, a cheeseburger station, and a lethal looking signature Iron Man cocktail. All they had to do was make it through a few more hours and Tony would be here.

–

“…Anyway, MJ is… she’s just different, Mr. Stark, you know? But sometimes she acts like she hates me and then the next thing I know she’s defending me when Flash starts running his mouth, so how am I supposed to know what to think?” Peter had been talking for so long all Tony could do was open and close his mouth in an attempt to get a word in edgewise.

“Hey, take a breath kid, okay?” Tony laughed and put a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’re a great guy, I’m sure she knows that. Feelings in high school are…” Tony pauses and gives a fake shudder. “Messy is putting it mildly.” He’s about to go full on dad talk when Peter looks at his phone and visibly pales.

It was 7:45, and somehow, between stopping for “birthday slurpees” and sitting in the car drinking them, Peter was about to make them late for Tony’s party. Captain Rogers and Captain Rhodes were going to kill him, but there was a silver lining: at least he hadn’t ruined the surprise.

“Thanks Mr. Stark, that really helps, but you know what, I think I uh, forgot my backpack in the lab earlier? And I have homework, so … we should probably get going,” Peter suggests, motioning between Tony and the wheel.

“I didn’t even say anything, Pete, but sure.” Tony looks at him, confused. “You want to take this for a spin? Drive us back?” Tony never let Peter test drive his cars, telling him they weren’t for learning in they were for appreciating. It pained Peter to say no, but it had to be done.

“Uh, better not, all this sugar, you know how it is.” Peter holds the cup aloft and gives Tony a forced smile, looking at the clock again. 7:48. They had to move.

It clicks into place all at once for Tony and he looks from Peter’s face to the clock and the slurpee, the abandoned advice that Peter never normally asked for.

“They’re throwing me a surprise party, aren’t they?” Tony asks, eyebrows raised.

Peter deflates, but before he can say anything, Tony holds up a hand. “Don’t confirm or deny! Then Steve can’t hold you accountable,” he laughs. “But for the record, you are terrible at this.”

“Yeah, yeah can we please just go now?” Peter begs.

Tony laughs and peels out of the parking lot, telling Peter to hold on.

–

When the last of the guests had left, and the tower was well on its way to being cleaned up, Steve and Tony fall onto the couch together, Tony sitting on Steve’s lap, wrapping his arms around him and bringing their lips together, slow and sweet.

“Happy birthday,” Steve murmurs, pulling back just a little to look at him.

“Thank you,” Tony presses another kiss to Steve’s temple. “I love you. This was way too much, you know I would have been happy with dinner just us,” Tony tells him, leaning into the way Steve threads his fingers through his hair.

“Mm, maybe next year. Were you really surprised? I owe Peter an apology…”

Tony tries to keep a straight face, he really does. He had done a convincing job walking through the door, but here, in the quiet living and Steve’s blue inquisitive eyes on him, Tony can’t help it, he laughs.

“I knew it,” is all Steve says, sighing.

“It was still an amazing party,” Tony reassures him with a kiss.

“Kid’s been to space and he can’t keep a secret?” Steve shakes his head as Tony buries more laughter into his shoulder.


	8. Patch Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like some established relationship hurt/comfort if that's okay? Steve patching tony up after a battle, and he's tightly wound, but Tony calms him down and there's kisses and fluff :)

“Here, let me look at that.” Steve sucks in a breath and walks Tony carefully to the couch. He looks at Tony for a minute, as if to ensure he’s really okay, then nods to himself, rummaging through what had to be the world’s most advanced first aid kit.**  
**

“Jesus, what’d you do, knock over an ER?” Tony’s attempt at lightening the worry etched across Steve’s face backfires, his lips pressing together in a hard line.

“We’re lucky we have this, wherever it came from,” is all Steve says, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic, piles of gauze and bandages, and lining them up next to Tony on the couch with surgical precision. Tony had insisted he wasn’t hurt badly enough to warrant a trip to the med bay, but Steve eyes the cuts on Tony’s arm where the suit splintered and gives an almost imperceptible shudder.

“This has Happy Hogan all over it, I’ll be sure to thank him for us,” Tony goes for a smile this time and Steve does his best to return it, though it’s a mostly half-hearted attempt.

“This might sting a little,” Steve warns. Tony nods; years later and he was still caught off guard by how gentle Steve was with him, the careful, deliberate way he touched him. Not like he thought Tony was fragile, just in a way that said, time and again, _I love you, I would never hurt you_. It was overwhelming, sometimes, being the sole focus of Steve Rogers like this.

Steve dampens a cotton pad, running it over the lacerations, and Tony would swear it hurt Steve more to do it than it did Tony, and he was the one bleeding. When Steve reaches for the bandages, his hands shake a little, and Tony stops him with his good hand.

“Steve, sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay?” Tony murmurs the words, his earlier joking manner long gone.

“Of course, I’m fine.” Steve’s face is still determined, the picture of focus, but the way his hands keep shaking as he attempts to unroll the gauze tells another story altogether. “I’m just trying to make sure this doesn’t get infected. Sorry this is going to sting again…” 

Steve winces as he applies a final swipe of the antiseptic and covers Tony’s arm in bandages. He eyeballs his handiwork, giving it a final once over before sighing, relieved. Tony wants to cry a little, looking at him.

“Hey, look at me,” Tony lifts a hand to Steve’s jaw, forcing the other man to look at him. When Steve finally relents, bringing his eyes to Tony’s, they’re flickering somewhere between stress and apprehension and love, and Tony holds his gaze firm.

“None of this was your fault, you know that, right? I’m okay. I’m right here, and thanks to you, this will heal up just fine.” Tony keeps his voice steady and reassuring, watching some of the tension fade from Steve’s face. Tony eases him down onto the couch beside him, settling himself in against Steve’s side, bandaged arm held carefully.

“I know it wasn’t, but if I had moved a little faster, maybe this wouldn’t have happened at all. When I saw the suit go to pieces like that I just… I thought… “ Steve can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, his voice wavering at the end.

“I know. It could have been so much worse, but it wasn’t. You got there just in time.” Tony feels Steve sag against him, burying his face in Tony’s hair and taking a deep breath, like he wants to breathe him in.

When Steve lifts his head again, his eyes are bright, and he rests his forehead against Tony’s for a long moment.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Steve doesn’t really have to ask, but he likes to reassure them both sometimes.

“I know. So much that I’m pretty sure this —” Tony gestures to his arm, “Hurt you a lot more than me. You know I love you, too?”

“I do,” Steve says softly, the rest of the worry draining from his face.

“Good,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s temple. “We take care of each other, that’s what that means.”

Steve nods, and when he smiles this time, it goes all the way to his eyes, lighting up his face.


	9. Sleep Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: steve doesn't sleep well at all without tony, he is mopey ad grumpy whenever tony's away on long trips even though he tries to hide it (the team is very aware). then tony comes back early from a trip to surprise his husband, and steve can finally sleep well <3

It wasn’t that Steve couldn’t sleep without Tony. He just … kind of tossed and turned for most of the night, usually getting three hours in somewhere around four in the morning, and then waking up promptly at seven for his run. So, he did sleep, just not very well or for very long, and when he woke up, even after pushing extra miles into his run, he was a little cranky. He’d slept but he hadn’t _rested_.**  
**

The first two days were okay, mostly because Steve had gone to bed and switched his pillow with Tony’s. It was cool to the touch, still held the comforting smell of Tony’s shampoo, and even though they had the exact same ones, Tony’s was somehow much softer than Steve’s. Those nights he got something like five hours, but by night three, Tony’s scent had been replaced by Steve’s, and that’s where things started to fall apart, a little.

The team was certainly bearing the brunt of Steve’s tired moodiness by the halfway mark of Tony’s trip. Steve pushed them harder when they trained, expected more from mission reports, and gave it his all when they sparred, when he would normally hold back at _least_ a little. It was after one such sparring match, with Natasha this time, Steve sighing heavily into a cup of coffee, when she pointed out what he already knew.

“Please tell me Tony is coming back soon, Steve. When was the last time you actually slept?” Nat asks.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, mouth a firm line.

“That wasn’t the question.”

“Fine, a week or so, maybe. But really, I’m fine,” Steve argues.

“It’s normal to miss him, you know. You’re used to a certain thing and suddenly it’s gone and you’re struggling and that’s _normal_,” Natasha says matter of factly.

Steve clenches his jaw; he knows she’s right, it was nothing to beat himself up about, he’s just exhausted. And yeah, he missed Tony, hadn’t even thought about how empty and strange their bed would feel the first time he had to sleep in it alone for longer than a day or two.

“Yeah, well, only a few more days,” Steve sighs.

–

That night, he’s finishing up a movie and sketching absently when his phone rings. He picks it up without looking.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Tony warm, soft voice was the last thing Steve had been expecting and he’s suddenly, stupidly, at risk of his eyes filling up. He’s over-tired and clearly emotional and Tony’s voice, even over the phone, fills him with a warmth and ease he hadn’t felt in nearly ten days.

“Tony,” he breathes into the phone. “Hi.”

“_Hi_. I just wanted to check in. You haven’t killed anyone while I’m gone? You’re okay?” Tony’s questions are light, but a current of understanding lies beneath his words. It hits Steve for the first time that Tony might be having the same problem sleeping he is. The knowledge settles him, somehow. It wasn’t just him, they really did sleep better together.

Steve laughs a little, quietly, pressing the phone impossibly closer to his ear, knows it’s not really Tony he’s pulling closer, but it helps a little, having his voice so near. 

“I’m okay, I guess. I miss you,” he admits, like he’s telling a dearly-held secret.

“Me too. This was harder than I thought,” Tony says, and Steve swallows thickly.

“I’ve been sleeping on your pillow,” Steve confesses. “Doesn’t smell like you anymore, though.”

“I snuck out one of your giant sweatshirts when I left,” Tony replies, and Steve is torn between laughing and crying and he’s overwhelmed by how much he misses his husband.

“Only a few more days,” Tony says, and he’s right but they feel endless.

“Yeah,” Steve presses his eyes closed, long eyelashes fanning down over dark circles.

“Goodnight, Steve, sweet dreams.”

Steve gets all of four hours that night.

–

The next night, Steve is done getting changed, methodically taking throw pillows off the bed, when a voice from the doorway interrupts him.

“I see I made it back just in time,” Tony says, smiling widely and not waiting for Steve to answer before nearly launching himself into his arms.

For a second, all Steve can do is stand there in stunned silence while Tony hugs him tightly, reveling in his scent, and the fact that Tony was _home_ three whole days early. Eventually he gets it together enough to pull Tony in close, burying his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, in his hair, his chest. Two weeks was hardly a lifetime, he knows that, but it didn’t matter. Time ceased to exist when you missed someone so powerfully.

“Promise we can stay in bed for at least a week?” Tony asks when they finally pull apart. Steve can only nod and laugh wetly, pulling Tony down onto the bed with him. A shower could wait, unpacking definitely _would_ wait, and all that mattered now was that Tony was home, here in their bed again, and Steve wouldn’t spend another minute in it alone.

Tony curls himself in tightly, chest to chest with Steve, wrapping his arms around him and feeling the tension in Steve’s shoulders melt away at the touch. Steve sighs happily when Tony runs his thumb up and down the length of his jaw before setting out on a quest to kiss every inch of his face, from chin to eyelids and forehead, spending extra time on his lips. It’s the warmest welcome home they could give each other, drinking in everything they’d been without. When they fall asleep, tangled together, Tony slotted perfectly in against Steve, it’s the best night’s sleep either of them had had in weeks.

The next morning, Steve wakes up to gentle, slow kisses being pressed to his temple, his cheek, and down to his bare chest. He hums and hugs Tony to him, not ready to let him go or open his eyes just yet. 

“Welcome home,” Steve mumbles, sleepily. “You’re never leaving again, I say so.”

When he finally manages to crack his eyes open, breaking the sleepy spell that seems to have been cast over them, the warmth in Tony’s brown eyes is worth it.

“Deal.”


	10. Saint Francis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you write tony absolutely melting when Steve teases him for being cute bc he’s allergic to something as small and harmless as a kitten

Tony looks up from his tablet for the third time in ten minutes, stifles a tiny, nearly silent sneeze into his shoulder, and heaves a sigh. Something was fucking with his nose and he needed to find out what it was already, because he was done with this. All he wanted to do was drink his coffee and read this mind-numbing report and be done with it, but it was proving impossible. The constant, itchy sensation prickling his sinuses was driving Tony crazy. He had to stop every few sentences to sneeze, and his eyes were watering enough that he had to keep rubbing at them if he had any hope at all of _actually reading._**  
**

“You look … itchy.” Steve appears in the doorway of the kitchen, a fond smile at his lips as he watches Tony rub at his nose in frustration.

“God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I _snf!_ I _Hh! …Hdt-ISH!”_ Tony stops and sniffles a few times before looking at Steve, watery eyes pleading with him to do _something_ to make this better.

“_Bless_ you! Has anyone ever told you you look cute when you do that?” Steve asks, crossing the room and coming to stand between Tony’s legs.

“When I do what? _S_-sneeze? Jesus, really, again? _Huh-Ipshh! Ih’ngxsh!_” Tony rubs at his whole face, knowing it would really only make things worse, but it was a small relief at least, and right now that was enough for him.

“Well, that, and how you rub your face like that. You look like a cat; you know how they do that thing with their paws, like,” Steve is trying to demonstrate what he means and Tony would be laughing at how ridiculous he looks if he wasn’t once again consumed by the relentless itch. His breath hitches a few times, torturous little things that go nowhere, over and over until Tony is seriously contemplating throwing something.

“You can’t tell me this is cute, Steve, I’m dying here. What could be causing this! My allergies haven’t been this bad since that time _someone_ took us camping during peak tree pollen season.” Tony shoots Steve a dubious look and earns a laugh.

“I’m still sorry about that, you know,” Steve smiles. “Poor guy, something’s really getting to you,” he says, tapping gently on the tip of Tony’s nose. It’s already pink and sensitive enough that the feather-light touch alone is enough; Tony leans to the side and sneezes half a dozen times, all in a desperate, breathless rush.

“Bless you… a lot of times. I lost count after four,” Steve teases him. “See! That. You look like a cat. A grumpy indoor cat, I think,” Steve laughs when Tony drops his hand from his face, revealing a faint pink flush.

Tony doesn’t get a chance to argue that it _really_ wasn’t cute or even to ask Steve to _please_ stop looking at him when he was _like this_ before Peter comes walking into the kitchen, a giant Starbucks cup in one hand and what looked like a swaddle of blankets cradled in the crook of his other arm.

“Peter… what’s that?” Steve asks. Tony is still distracted, but there are definitely tiny little ears sticking out of that blanket.

“S’mores frappuccino!” Peter’s face lights up. “They bring it back every summer, this was the first day they had it. It really tastes _exactly_ like s’mores, Captain Rogers. Wanna try?” He tilts the cup towards Steve.

“I… no, I’m okay, thanks. I was referring to that, though,” Steve says, pointing to the purple blanket.

At this point, Tony is looking up too, realization dawning on him.

“Oh, this little guy?” Peter shifts the blanket, revealing a tiny gray and white kitten. Adorable, and totally harmless, unless you were Tony Stark, someone who spent the majority of his life avoiding cats like the plague. Sure, he loved them, but suffice to say they did _not_ love him back.

“I found him in the bushes on my way home,” Peter continues. “We’ve been hanging out in there,” Peter hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the common room. “I’m going to bring him to a shelter, but he looked so scared out there, I wanted to spend some time with him first, cheer him up a little.” His face is so open and earnest that neither of them could really fault him for it. It’s not like he _knew_ that Tony was allergic to cats.

“While that’s wonderful of you, Saint Francis, please, for the love of all that is good, get your little friend _out of my house!_” Tony says through his teeth. He punctuates the sentence with two more sneezes, and Peter finally catches on, apologizing as he makes his way out the door.

“That kid is going to kill me one of these days,” Tony sighs.

“He means well though,” Steve points out. “And you _do_ look cute like that. Taken out by a tiny little kitten. One of your own!” Steve says faux-dramatically.

Heat rises in Tony’s cheeks again. “Nothing about this is cute! Unless you want a_ cat fight_ please, oh please, drop it,” Tony buries his face in his hands, embarrassed and itchy.

“Fine, fine I got it, Tony does not play well with other cats.” Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Tony’s shoulder when he just sneezes once more in response.


	11. Wedding kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

Steve and Tony skip at least half of their wedding reception. Anyone paying attention would argue that they skipped something like ninety percent of it, actually, but in the end, neither would change that night for the world.

They make it through the announcements, though it could have been five people in the room or five hundred thousand; they only had eyes for each other, smiles so bright and private that no one existed but the two of them. They make it through the first dance, too, the song they picked so carefully and barely heard, so wrapped up they are in each other and the moment and the nearly miraculous fact that they’d made it this far at all. 

After that, though, neither of them can seem to let go of the other. They hadn’t said much of anything since the ceremony, just smiling helplessly, kissing hands, cheeks, whatever they could reach. The guests are being seated and dinner is being served when Tony leans over, brushes a lingering kiss across Steve’s cheek on his way to murmur in his ear. 

“I think I forgot something. Upstairs,” he says, voice quiet and serious, and for a moment, Steve wonders what he could have forgotten on their wedding day, and why it would matter right now. But then Tony’s eyes meet his and he brushes a finger across his lips, and they excuse themselves, snaking their way through the tables hand in hand. 

Tony knew how to to make an entrance, had been entering rooms dramatically for decades now, but his real talent, the one people always overlooked, was making a hasty getaway.

When they make it up to their room, Tony closes the door with a click and pulls Steve to him, breathing deeply, taking in his cologne, the way he looks in a tux, how his hair is still perfectly coiffed even after a long day of photos. He’s able to look at Steve and think, _husband_ for the first time, and before he even brings their lips together, he knows they’re never making it back downstairs.

“We’re _married_,” he hears Steve whisper softly. “Did you ever in a million years think—”

“Yes.” Tony interrupts him. “For so long and in so many ways, I’ve thought about it,” he breathes.

“Well, yeah, of course, but you know what I mean,” Steve smiles at him, tracing the line of Tony’s jaw with his thumb.

“_I do_,” Tony agrees and Steve laughs, reaching down to twine their fingers together, admiring the gleaming gold rings that reside there now.

“Mr. Rogers-Stark,” Steve says, and_ that -_ that’s when Tony finally lets himself bring their mouths together, a soft press that quickly deepens into something more; something different, this time. Not their first kiss as husbands, not even their first kiss of the evening, but the first that’s just for them. They’ve said their vows, but this is its own kind of promise, deep and sweet and _endless _and Tony loses himself in it, fisting his hands in Steve’s shirt, his tie, anything he can get reach, until Steve is all but holding him up. 

_Married._

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, kissing unhurried and ecstatic, before Steve guides them to the bed. Long enough that the last drinks have been poured, the cake cut without them, the guests long gone. They miss ninety percent of their reception, but they’ve got all the company they’ll ever need. 


	12. What's Mine is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Tony keeps wearing Captain America merchandise (jacket, shirt, etc) and/or stealing Steve's clothes, pining Steve has a lot of feelings about this, ending in getting together <3 (I love clothes sharing so much omg)

“Uh, Tony, what are you wearing?” Steve fumbles over the words when Tony walks into the common room in one of Steve’s old beat up Army hoodies. It’s big on him, the sleeves falling down past his knuckles, and making him look… _adorable_ is the word that flashes immediately to Steve’s mind, though he tries his best to suppress the thought when Tony starts to answer him.**  
**

“Are you flirting with me, Captain Handsome?” Tony lifts his eyebrows suggestively and steps right into Steve’s personal space, filling him with the heady scent of oil and peppermint and something else that could be shampoo but is probably just _Tony_. Steve gives him a feeble smile, unsure how to respond. If he knew how to flirt with Tony effectively, maybe he wouldn’t be in this position to start with. Maybe Tony would be wearing his clothes because Steve gave them to him. Or, Steve’s face flushes at the thought, wearing them to tease him because Tony would _know_ the effect it had on him.

But Steve had no such luck. He didn’t know how to be more than Tony’s good friend, or his co-leader, or someone to keep him company when they both couldn’t sleep.

“‘What are you wearing’ is usually reserved for when the person isn’t standing right in front of you, I’m afraid.” The words are low and murmured so close to Steve’s ear that he feels his face heat. He sucks in a breath, wondering if it was possible to suffocate from sheer _want_. Steve gives what he hopes is a convincing laugh and nods, like he’d just learned something very important.

“Got it. I’ll remember that for next time,” he says, and wants to clap a hand over his mouth, because _why_ did he say that? There wouldn’t be a next time. …Would there? If there was, he might not survive it.

Surprises flits across Tony’s face for the briefest moments before he collects himself. “Looking forward to it, Steven.” he says, laying a land on Steve’s arm before turning abruptly and leaving the room.

Steve realizes he still didn’t know why Tony had his sweatshirt on, but he doesn’t much care.

–

The next time it happens, it’s morning, and Tony comes shuffling into the kitchen in a light gray Captain America t-shirt, rumpled enough that he’d clearly slept in it, and Steve’s stomach plummets, toast turning to a paste in his mouth. That was his shirt, a gag gift from Bucky that was at least two sizes too small on him, tight and cropped and ridiculous. On Tony though, it looked like it was made for him, sliding over his biceps and hugging him just so. No one should get to look like this when they first wake up; pants low on his hips, a shirt of Steve’s, and bedhead that should by no means look as hot as it does. Really, who gave him the right?

“Morning,” Tony grumbles, noisily pulling out the chair next to Steve’s and slumping into it.

“Uh, morning, Tony,” Steve starts, and falters when Tony turns, sleepy-eyed, at the sound of his voice. Steve forces himself to swallow a few time before something truly insane slipped through his lips.

“Didn’t realize you were still such a Cap fanboy now that you have him here in person, Stark,” Natasha says, entering the room without a sound.

“Oh, this? Must’ve ended up in the wrong laundry pile somehow. I was working, tired, you know…” Tony shrugs, still looking half asleep. The explanation would be fine, if it weren’t for one small detail: Steve never wears that shirt, so it wouldn’t be in the laundry to begin with, which brought a thousand more questions to mind. Questions that he definitely didn’t plan on asking in front of anyone. Or ever.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Nat says with a knowing smirk. “I’d say whatever helps you sleep at night, but clearly that’s wearing Steve’s clothes.”

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think Tony looked embarrassed. But Tony Stark doesn’t do embarrassment, so it comes off more indignant than anything else.

“I’m sorry, have I woken up in fifteenth century Spain? Is this the Spanish Inquisition? Steve, is it bothering you? I can give this back right now,” Tony huffs, hands going immediately to the edges of the shirt. That’s all Steve needs, Tony, shirtless in the middle of the kitchen, asking him if it’s _okay_.

“You’re fine, Tony. It’s… fine, yeah.” Steve says in a rush, knows that Nat is staring at the flush spreading across his face, and wishing more than anything he had slept in just this one time.

“Boys.” Natasha shakes her head, grabs her coffee mug and leaves the kitchen, her laughter echoing behind her.

Tony gives Steve an apologetic smile and promptly rests his head on his folded arms. Steve doesn’t think he imagines the quiet little snores.

–

“You could ask me to borrow things, you know,” Steve says when Tony comes striding back in from the rain, one of Steve’s coats draped around him. Like the sweatshirt, it hangs on him, almost comically large, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice. He shakes it off and hangs it up carefully, looking sheepish.

“Sorry, yeah, I should’ve asked,” Tony says, looking like he just got caught red-handed doing something terrible. “I ran out for coffee and it was just there and I grabbed it. Anyway, sorry. I’ll ask next time. Or, hey, wear my own clothes. God knows I have enough of them…” Tony trails off and Steve hates the guilty, almost sad look on his face.

“I don’t mind!” Steve says, embarrassingly quickly. “I just meant… I don’t know. You’ve been doing it a lot lately and I… noticed,” he adds, lamely. “If you asked, I would say yes, that’s all.” The whole thing feels pointless, and Steve regrets opening his mouth. Why would he bring it up if he didn’t mind? But not saying anything would just mean more of the endless torture that is seeing Tony in his clothes without being able to do anything about it, like help him out the jacket, kiss the water droplets from his face… Steve shakes his head, like it might help somehow.

“You don’t mind,” Tony repeats, slowly.

“No! I like it,” Steve says quickly, before his brain can decide that admitting it might be the worst idea he’s ever had. “I mean…”

“You like it?” Tony is staring at him now, his expression unreadable. They’re still standing in the foyer, of all places, and it occurs to Steve that maybe he should have thought to make this admission somewhere just a little more private. But then again, he hadn’t been thinking, which is how he ended up in this mess to begin with.

“I mean, I like you, Tony, so of course I don’t mind.”

“Steve…” Tony sighs, like he can’t make heads or tails of the situation unfolding before him, like he can’t bear to hope Steve means what he thinks he means.

“When you say things like _what are you wearing_ and _I like you_, I wish you said them like… Like you meant them.” Tony’s usually confident face is pained when he finally meets Steve’s eyes, and Steve is stunned, because if he was hearing this correctly, it sounded a lot like Tony wanted the same thing he’s wanted all along.

“I do mean them. I mean them exactly how you think I mean them, Tony,” he says, voice serious and huskier than he’d intended, his eyes determined now, and Tony studies his face for a few seconds, as if to be really _really_ sure the whole thing wasn’t some elaborate prank.

Steve takes a step forward, takes a careful breath in, and decides that words clearly weren’t getting the job done. Tony deserves to know how he feels. So Steve takes another few steps forward, until he’s far from a _friendly_ distance away from Tony, his pulse thrumming, a dull roar in his ears. He moves in and slides his hand into Tony’s rain-damp hair, lifting his face up and up until he can bring his lips to the few remaining raindrops making their way past Tony’s temple and down his cheek. He stops them with his lips, whisper soft on Tony’s face, kissing them away, before returning his eyes to Tony’s, a silent question there. Tony nods, nearly imperceptible, and something seems to come to life in him, because before Steve could take so much as a breath, Tony is pulling him in by the strings of his sweatshirt, crushing their lips together in a way that leaves no room for uncertainty.

The first mission Tony goes on without him, Steve learns that _what are you wearing_ does, in fact, have a different implication when the other person isn’t there. When Tony appears on FaceTime wearing Captain America boxers, well, he likes that, too.


	13. Happy Birthday, Sarah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for some emotional hurt/comfort today, so can I ask for Steve and Tony fluff and spending time together on the anniversary of Sarah Rogers' birthday? Thank you <3

“We never had much money,” Steve says, stirring a single packet of sugar into his coffee. The spoon drips into the saucer when he lays it down gently, a tiny curl of steam rolling off of it.**  
**

He was staring down at the menu in front of him without appearing to really see it. He’s more reserved than usual this morning, had laid in bed long past the time he would normally be out for a run or a session in the gym. Instead, Steve let Tony sleepily press his nose into his neck, pull him back into the blankets, lavish him with soft, sweet kisses. Kisses that wouldn’t lead to more, just let them enjoy the extra time, the quiet of the morning, each other. He let himself luxuriate in gentle, callused hands on sleep-warm skin. Heard himself ask Tony quietly if he minded going to a diner for a late breakfast.

“Who would I be if I turned down greasy diner bacon and endless coffee?” Tony had replied, kissing Steve again before rolling them over and out of bed, into the shower.

Steve had wondered briefly if Tony knew, had the day earmarked in his nearly endless Rolodex of Steve Facts, before realizing that no one knew, no one but Bucky and Bucky wasn’t here. Tony was just _like_ this with people he loved, and Steve especially. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like Tony knew, on some level, that something was different this morning.

Tony looks at him, soft brown eyes intent across the table, waiting for him to continue.

“Ma always tried her best though.” Steve looks up from his menu, finally, like he’d just remembered Tony was there, that this conversation was taking place outside of his head.

“She always made sure birthdays felt like something special, saving up for as long as it took. We spent a lot of them at a diner just like this one,” Steve tells him. “Moonlight Diner had the best pancakes, but thinking about it now, it was probably just the occasion that made them taste so good. Covered in whipped cream and syrup for breakfast. She seemed so happy every time, like for two days of the year, every piece of her wasn’t exhausted.” Steve’s eyes are sad, but not entirely so. Contemplative, loving, fond, but all wrapped in something melancholic.

They’d driven all the way to Brooklyn, and it was around then that Tony had realized this morning was about something, something more than the lost, man-out-of-time feeling that occasionally came creeping back over Steve, no matter how happy and settled they were. Their destination was a little spot tucked away on a non-descript corner. It looked and smelled just like every diner Tony had ever been in, but Steve settled into the sticky red booth like he was home.

“She sounds great,” Tony says, meaning it. Warm, familial memories weren’t his thing, but he knew a good thing when he saw it.

“She was.” Steve smiles at him then, meeting his eyes and giving him a grateful little look. “You would’ve loved her. She was as stubborn as they came, especially when it came to getting what she wanted, or what was best for us.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Tony says with a raised eyebrow.

“She would have loved you, too,” Steve adds, answering the question Tony would never ask. Instead, Tony reaches over and covers Steve’s hand with his.

“Today’s her birthday,” Tony says, the pieces falling into place in his mind. He feels something warm swell in his chest.

“It is.” Steve turns his palm so they’re holding hands across the table. They could be two teenagers on a first date, they’re so wrapped up in each other, in memory, in the power of sharing something like this with someone you love as much as they love each other.

“Well. Happy birthday, Sarah. Steve’s still out here making you proud,” Tony says quietly, not letting go of Steve’s hand. Steve squeezes it gently.

When the waitress comes by and asks if they’re ready to order, their eyes meet for the briefest moment. Pancakes. Whipped cream. Syrup.


	14. Welcome to the Science Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you please write something were steve and tony or in danger and are saved by spiderman. Stony impressed of how far peter has come. Just steve and tony watching spiderman in action.

“This is a _school_ science fair?” Steve looks around, head swiveling, trying to take everything in at once while they walked. “It’s so… professional,” he says. **  
**

“Well, to be fair, it’s a school for nerds, so you wouldn’t find your run of the mill solar system dioramas here, anyway,” Tony points out. 

“Maybe not solar systems but when I think of science fairs I think of those volcanoes, that, you know…” Steve mimes an explosion with his hands and Tony snorts. 

“None of those, either. For my high school science fair I made a bot. He made toast,” Tony adds, like Steve should be highly impressed. 

“_Wow_, I mean, toast? Can I marry you all over again?” Steve says, batting his eyelashes at Tony playfully.

“You wish, Mr. Rogers-Stark. I’ll have you know I won first place and everyone wanted a piece of this,” Tony gestures to himself and laughs. 

“Well, I didn’t have a science fair growing up, but Bucky and I wouldn’t have missed an opportunity to blow something up and call it school work, so I’m thinking volcano.” Steve rubs his hands together excitedly. Tony laughs, making a mental note to order his husband a children’s chemistry set later. That would make for a fun weekend for both of them; Steve living out his childhood dream of explosions, and Tony… watching it happen. 

They were at Midtown School of Science and Technology to support their friendly neighborhood pseudo son. Peter had kept his presentation heavily under wraps, hyping it up for weeks, and Tony had to admit he was more than a little curious as to what he put together. The kid impressed Tony every time he stopped by the tower to work in the lab, not to mention all the impromptu lectures he gave the team about physics. He couldn’t do a move in training anymore without stopping to explain exactly _why_ it was possible. Even Fury was impressed, which pleased Tony to no end. He knew there had to be something that excited the guy beyond the season’s latest eye patch. Peter had found it, and he hadn’t even bragged about it. Much. Well, not to anyone who wasn’t Tony or Steve, who got to hear all about how pumped he was.

“Did you see his face on that last one? It was like _WHIP! PHISHEW! BAM!_ And Mr. Fury was all, WOW, PARKER, YOU’RE INCREDIBLE!” Peter relived the whole thing for them as if they hadn’t watched it all first hand. 

Tony might have recorded it for posterity. 

Now, Tony looks around, scanning the tables and booths everywhere, looking for Peter, Ned, or MJ. He doesn’t have to look very far. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark! Captain Rogers!” Peter’s voice floats across the huge cafeteria, and they turn at the sound of it. Peter was wearing goggles and a lab coat and smiling broadly, nearly skipping over to them. 

“Hey, Webhead,” Tony says, throwing his arm around Peter’s shoulder slyly. 

“Shh! Mr. Stark! Not _here_,” Peter whispers, alarmed. Steve’s face matches Peter’s tone, but really, Tony hadn’t been that loud. 

“Sorry kid,” Tony says, looking sheepishly between them. “Why don’t you show us what you guys came up with? I assume the cat’s outta the bag since we’re here and all…” Tony says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, yeah! Over here. It’s just me; Ned wanted to do the science of _Star Wars_ and MJ said we’d just embarrass her by being dorks, so…” Peter walks them a few more steps and gestures widely. Behind him is a table with a huge, hand-illustrated sign that read _The Science of Spider-Man_. Tony gapes at it, trying and failing to find something to say for a solid minute. 

“Are you… This can’t be… Surely you’re not _this_ dense? You just yelled at me for saying _webhead!_” Tony whisper yells. “You might as well hang up a sign that says _I am Spider-Man!_”

“I mean I _am_.” Peter whispers back. Steve is looking between them, shaking his head and likely thinking that a volcano would’ve been a far better choice. 

“It does look great, Pete,” Steve says, to save the moment and stop the devastated look on the kid’s face from spreading. 

“It does, I just… do you think this was the wisest choice?” Tony asks, gentler this time after a discouraging look from Steve. 

“If anyone asks, the plan was to say that you found some web at a crime scene and I reverse engineered it to find the composition for the web fluid. It made sense in my head!” Peter argues. 

“Where have I heard that before?” Steve mutters with a laugh, looking at Tony, who only rolls his eyes in response. 

“Technically, I _did_ make this fluid in chemistry. In a drawer,” he adds, like this is the impressive part. 

“Web fluid in a drawer, a bot that makes toast, I’m surrounded by geniuses,” Steve exclaims, wrapping his arms around the both of them, the disagreement momentarily forgotten. 

“Wait, who’s making toast?” Ned pipes in, coming up behind them. 

Tony huffs and glares at Steve. “No one, but Steve’s gonna make something go boom later, if anyone’s interested in that,” Tony says. 

The judges start coming around then, though, so Tony and Steve stand back, beaming proudly at each other as Peter explains the “found” web and how he worked backwards to construct it. The whole thing would’ve gone off without a hitch had it not been for the sudden loss of power and a distant scream. Tony hears Peter scampering away, no doubt to put his webs to good use, and Steve takes on his most Captain America voice, ushering people into groups and urging them to stay calm.

Tony’s hand is hovering over the nano suit when the lights flick back on as fast as they went off, and he blinks at the sudden light. Steve is across the room, looking around for the source of the power outage, or Tony, or both, and Peter was nowhere to be found. Tony’s getting ready to deploy the suit, when Spider-Man swings in, flipping through the air among his peers and teachers. 

“Mr. S- uh… _Iron Man!_” Peter calls, voice thankfully disguised enough that no one recognizes him but Tony and Steve. “Doom Bots,” he says, flicking a web over his shoulder. “Funneling power from the school labs into their systems,” Peter explains. “Blew the whole system out. I did what I could, but it might not hold. Think you could take a look?” Peter asks, and it’s really not the time or the place but Tony stops in his tracks, pride swelling in his chest as he watches the kid swing away, no doubt to change and make a miraculous reappearance. And, if he’d overheard the judges correctly, collect his first place award. 

That night, Tony recounts the afternoon’s events excitedly, telling the team that Peter saved the day _and_ took first place over pizza. Tony’s arm waves around, illustrating how Peter swung in, while Steve smiles and squeezes his other hand under the table. _Like father like son_, Steve can’t help but think. He looks around. He really is surrounded by brilliance. 


	15. Not If It's You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please pleaseeeee write something with sick tony's sensitive eyes and steve taking care of him that's the most precious thing I've ever heard

Tony yanks off his glasses and runs a hand over his face, sighing. He rubs at his nose and gives one last, tired look at his computer before deciding that tomorrow is another day. He blinks a few times, clearing his watery eyes; they burn thanks to the cold he can’t seem to shake and too many hours in front of computer, tablet, and phone screens. Tony throws everything into his shoulder bag and slides his glasses back on, the light frames immediately weighing heavily on his face and sinuses. He’s stunned he was able to make it through so many endless meetings with how run down he feels, and heaves himself into the back of Happy’s car with a thankful groan.

He pulls out his phone to let Steve know he’s on his way home, but winces at the bright screen in the dim lighting, and shoves the phone back in his pocket, leaning his head against the back of the seat.

“Hey, Hap, you mind texting Steve for me, tell him we’re on the way back and we can order dinner when I get there?”

“You got it, Tony,” Happy says, and nods when he’s done.

Tony manages a quick thumbs up and a soft _thanks_, not lifting his head from the headrest, appreciating Happy not just for the favor and for driving but for not commenting on how obviously horrible he felt. The medicine he’d downed all day was wearing off all at once, and his head was pounding with congestion, feeling almost too heavy to hold up. His eyes still feel hot and teary despite the diminishing sunlight, and he keeps them squeezed shut the whole way home. He must have been more tired than he realized because before he knows it, Tony hears Happy calling him quietly.

“Hey. Boss. We’re here.” Happy’s voice sounds like it’s reaching him from impossibly far away and Tony shakes himself awake, mumbling an apology. Happy brushes him off and walks him inside, all the way to the kitchen where Steve’s waiting for him.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve says quietly, holding out his arm. Tony doesn’t waste any time tucking himself up under it, letting Steve hold him up while he rests his head against his shoulder.

“Want to stay for dinner, Happy? I ordered Chinese. Soup for this one,” Steve nudges Tony gently and he blinks his eyes at him, uncertain. “But there’s plenty,” Steve offers.

“No, no, I’m heading out, you two enjoy. Don’t let him go back to work tomorrow,” Happy advises with a firm look between them, before turning on his heel and leaving. So much for not commenting on how bad Tony felt.

Steve turns and looks at Tony, wrapping his other arm around him. “You feeling really bad?” Steve asks, and Tony can’t even bring himself to say no; he’s exhausted and his head is _killing_ him.

“Why don’t we go sit down while we wait for dinner,” Steve says, taking Tony’s hand in his and leading him to the couch.

When they sit, Steve leans in and slips Tony’s glasses off, and it’s like a weight lifts. Tony sighs in sheer relief, and gives him a small smile in thanks. Next, Steve moves down and loosens Tony’s tie, undoing the first three buttons of his navy silk shirt until he can take the tie off completely, sliding it over Tony’s head. It musses his hair, just a little, and gives Steve an excuse to run a gentle hand through it, before coming to rest on Tony’s cheek, cupping it softly.

“That’s a good start, right? Medicine next, I think,” Steve says, taking in Tony’s pale face, the way his red, watery-eyes and pink nose stand out against his complexion. “What else hurts?”

“Everything.” Tony tries to joke but his voice is tired and raspy and way too believably sick to be anything but serious. “My head and my eyes are the worst, though,” he admits, rubbing a fist into his eye and grimacing.

Steve presses a soft kiss to his forehead, right between Tony’s eyes. “That’ll just make it worse,” he says, bringing a thumb to wipe away a stray irritated tear. “Wait here, okay?” Steve gets up and heads for the bathroom, coming back with extra-strength cold and sinus medicine and a washcloth that drips onto the floor.

“Here, lay back,” Steve says, guiding Tony back so that his head is in Steve’s lap, pillowed comfortably. Tony’s eyes fall shut almost immediately. “This should help.” Steve lays the warm washcloth across Tony’s eyes, watching as the rest of his face relaxes at the warmth.

“Mm… God this feels amazing,” Tony nearly moans. “You’re amazing. Magic, Steven,” Tony says with a contented sigh, rolling his shoulders a little.

Steve smiles. “Ma used to do this for me when I was really sick,” he tells him.

“Well, she was a genius,” Tony confirms. “You have genius genes.”

“She must’ve been if this is the secret to getting you to let me fuss at you a little,” Steve agrees.

Tony shrugs. “You love me,” he says, his voice quiet and tired. He’s fairly certain he could fall asleep just like this.

Tony can hear the smile in Steve’s answering “I do.”


	16. Spooky Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27 & 6. Scary movies are for chumps. + I’m not scared.

They’re tucked up on the couch late Saturday night, scrolling through endless options looking for something to watch, when Steve remembers something Sam said earlier.

“Hey, Tony,” he says, turning his head so it rests on Tony’s shoulder.

“Hm?”

“Have you seen _Pet Sematary_?” Steve asks, pulling out the little notebook of things he wants to catch up on and nodding towards it. Years later and the thing had seen far better days, but Steve was still working through his list. It didn’t help that he added to it almost daily.

“Can’t say I have. Scary movies are for chumps,” Tony says with a quirked eyebrow.

“_Chumps?_” Steve repeats, disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know like silly, foolish…” Tony explains.

“I know what it means, it’s just… who _talks_ like that?” Steve laughs

“You’re one to talk! Suddenly you know what words are trendy this century?” Tony pouts at him. “You dead ass said _golly_ last week.”

“_Dead ass?_ Come on, that’s-”

“Yeah, okay, Peter taught me that one,” Tony admits, shaking his head. “But still. I can say chump.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” Steve agrees, watching the soft, pleased look that comes over Tony’s face. He was learning that Tony absolutely melted when he used pet names, and only occasionally used this knowledge to his advantage. “Sorry, that too old fashioned for you?” he teases.

Tony’s mouth twitches. “I’ll allow it,” he says, a shrug quickly morphing into Tony burrowing himself into Steve’s side.

“So, let’s watch it then,” Steve says, once Tony gets situated.

“_Pet Sematary?_”

“Yeah. If it’s for chumps, we should be fine, right?” Steve asks.

Steve does his best to hold in a laugh at the uncertainty that flickers over Tony’s face. “Right,” he says, nodding slowly. “I’m not scared,” he adds, like he needs to convince both himself and Steve.

An hour in, Tony is inching himself closer and closer to Steve, knotting their hands together, his knuckles tense and white. It is a silly movie, Steve has to admit, but in a completely terrifying way. When Tony nearly jumps a foot at a sudden noise, Steve wonders if he should suggest a new movie altogether, but then again… Tony turns and settles himself back in against him, face buried in Steve’s chest, arms wrapped firmly around him. He’s looking over at Steve with eyes that were equal parts _we will never speak of this_ and _please god don’t let go,_ and Steve smiles into the kiss he presses to the top of Tony’s head, letting the movie play on.


	17. Spoiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 119\. He’s spoiled rotten.

Steve gets out of the shower and goes in search of his family. He just got back from on an undercover mission and three weeks away had never felt longer. He towels off his hair and heads downstairs; there’s really only one place they would be if they weren’t on the main floor. 

He stops in the doorway of the workshop, smiling a little at the way Tony slows down for Peter, walking him through everything he was doing, talking to him almost like a peer. The kid was only five and could probably tell you more about engineering than most adults. Tony looks up and spots him, warmth washing over his features. His hair was a mess, like he hadn’t washed it in a day or two, and his t-shirt was stained. Steve wonders vaguely how long he’d been down here, but doesn’t dwell too long before Tony alerts Peter to his arrival. 

“Look who’s home!” Tony says, spinning Peter around. He screeches, running at Steve, arms outstretched. 

“Daddy!” He cries happily when Steve lifts him up, burying his face in the little boy’s hair. He might be genius-level smart, but Peter was still a kid at heart. Steve can admit that he’s biased, but he’d never met such a loving, affectionate little boy. Leaving got harder every time he had to go, but coming home was always endlessly sweet. 

“My turn,” Tony says, lifting Peter from Steve’s arms, kissing the top of his head and setting him down on the floor. He wraps his arms around his husband, inhaling deeply. They both give a contented sigh. Three weeks really was _way_ too long. 

“I missed you,” Tony says quietly, voice warm against Steve’s neck. He can’t pull himself away from him just yet. 

A crash makes them both jump, Tony whirling around to find Peter. 

“Sorry Daddy,” Peter calls, and when they find him on the other side of the work table, he looks close to tears, lip trembling worryingly and eyes wide as saucers. On the ground by his feet are the repulsors Tony had apparently been working on. “I broke Iron Man, Daddy, I’m sorry!” Peter wails, looking devastated. 

“You didn’t break him, Petey, look,” Tony lifts up the repulsor and it lights up, thankfully. “You can’t break Iron Man, don’t worry,” Tony says this proudly. 

Steve has to bite back a smile. “Crisis averted, little guy,” Steve says, lifting Peter back up. 

“Not little,” Peter argues, yawning hugely. Steve pulls out his phone; it was getting close to bedtime, and Peter definitely looked tired. 

“You’re right, you’re big and strong,” Steve agrees, kissing a raspberry into his cheek and reveling in the peals of laughter. “Why don’t we get to bed?” Steve suggests when Peter yawns again, eyes drooping. 

“I’d love to,” Tony answers, winking at Steve. 

“Story first? You haven’t read me a story in a long time, and you do the _best_ voices,” Peter says. 

Steve laughs and looks at Tony. They had a _tiny_ disagreement about who told the best bedtime stories, and their son had just ended their long-standing debate.

“Hey! I’m not so bad, am I squirt?” Tony asks. 

Peter contemplates this, tiny eyebrows coming together. “Two stories!” He declares. “Both read one,” Peter says. 

Tony looks at Steve and nods. “Sounds fair to me.”

“He’s spoiled rotten,” Steve whispers to Tony as they make their way upstairs. 

“Spoiled with science and stories isn’t _really_ spoiled,” Tony points out. 

Steve just laughs; they would _both_ give Peter the world. They settle into each other on Peter’s small bed, waiting as he deliberates over the books on his shelf. Steve pulls Peter into his lap when he comes running over, books in hand, one arm tucked around Tony. Yeah, he was happy to be home. 


	18. The Perfect Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another clothes sharing prompt: Steve wears Tony’s clothes and they are all too small on him but Tony thinks it’s adorable and can’t get enough. (:

When Tony gets home from a long trip and finds Steve asleep in one of his old MIT sweatshirts, he stops in his tracks, a smile tugging at his lips. Warmth winds it way into Tony’s chest as he watches Steve, sound asleep and snoring in his shirt. It’s way too small on him, scrunched up and exposing a strip of skin that Tony can’t help but reach out and touch, softly enough that it doesn’t wake his sleeping boyfriend. Tony figures Steve threw it on because he was away and he missed him. Tony did the same thing when Steve went on long missions, the only difference is that Steve is a lot taller and wider than him, so everything kind of hung on Tony like a wearable security blanket. Steve, on the other hand, looked pretty well stuffed into the sweatshirt. It’s a weirdly adorable sight to see, though, and Tony drops into bed beside him, tucking himself in close.

He asks about it the next morning.

“Mm, don’t care,” Steve mumbles sleepily, too comfortable to lift his head from the pillow. “Smells like you. Comfy.”

Between the pillow creases on his cheek and the tiny sweatshirt, Tony can’t help but huff a laugh and let himself be pulled into Steve’s side. The fact that the shirt is about two sizes too small doesn’t appear to bother Steve, though, and Tony decides that if Steve doesn’t care, he doesn’t care. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, and they drift back to sleep before they can think too much about it.

The next time Tony leaves for a few days, he gets a picture from Natasha. It’s Steve, sprawled out on the couch reading in a Stark Industries t-shirt small enough that it looks like a crop top, sleeves stretched tightly over his arms. It’s definitely Tony’s, and he has to bring a fist to his mouth to keep from smiling like an idiot in the middle of his meeting. He looks down when his phone lights up, another message from Nat.

_You created a monster, Stark. Please say you’re coming back soon._

Tony laughs out loud this time, ignoring the looks that come his way, and texts Steve a long string of heart emojis. Steve doesn’t know what inspires it, but it makes him smile.

“I could buy bigger clothes and wear them,” Tony says when he gets back. “That way they’re still mine, but they’ll fit you a little better.” The suggestion earns him a frown.

“But then they won’t _really_ be yours,” Steve points out. “I don’t mind the size, it’s just nice sometimes,” he says with a shrug. Tony can hardly argue; he wore Steve’s stuff all the time, even when they were in the same room.

“I’m not _complaining_, I just want you to be comfortable,” Tony says. “I think it’s cute,” he adds, pulling Steve in by his too-small shirt when he shoots him a wounded look.

From then on, Steve goes out of his way to show up unexpectedly in Tony’s clothes. Sometimes it’s simple, like when he wears one of Tony’s ties to a press event. Other days he’ll show up in the doorway of Tony’s workshop, waiting for Tony to notice that he’s wearing a pair of his pajama pants, several inches too short. It’s usually too silly and endearing for even Tony to ignore.

The breaking point comes when Steve wanders into the gym while Tony is sparring with Clint. Tony nearly falls down, his breath catching in his throat. Steve is wearing one of Tony’s tank tops, black and worn and _unfairly_ form fitting. Clint follows Tony’s distracted gaze and rolls his eyes.

“Does this mean we’re done here?” he guesses.

Tony just nods, reaching for a towel and meeting Steve’s eye with a smile.

“You’re driving me to distraction, Steve Rogers,” Tony tells him.

“Oh, you mean this?”

“Yes, I mean that. You can’t just… _wear_ that. It’s unfair. It’s…” Steve cuts him off with a kiss.

“You said you didn’t mind,” Steve reminds him with a smile. Between his blue eyes and the tank top, Tony has to shake his head before he responds.

“I _don’t_ mind. I love it, but you’re going to kill me, walking around like that. I have a heart condition, you know. And if you don’t kill me, the rest of the team just might,” Tony says into Steve’s lips. “What are you even doing down here?”

Steve laughs, taking him by the hand and leading him upstairs. “Driving you to distraction,” he says, and really, it’s _not_ fair.


	19. Excuse me for falling in love with you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 81\. Excuse me for falling in love with you.

It happens by accident. Tony comes across an ancient photo album while clearing out some closet and drawer space for Steve. He was only moving up a few floors, but it still feels like a big step, and Tony is thinking fondly about how far they’ve come when Steve comes in. He sees the album sitting on the floor and asks if they can look through it together.**  
**

Tony hadn’t so much as cracked the dusty book open. Had in fact, been planning on sticking it in a drawer and forgetting about it for another twenty years, if he was being honest. But neither of them had much tangible history. All of Steve’s memories were lost to a world that no longer existed, and Tony would just rather keep certain things behind him, where they belonged. But Steve’s eyes are hopeful, and Tony knows there are a few familiar faces he’s hoping to see in its pages, so he nods.

It wasn’t so bad, really. They sit together on the bed, album open across their laps, and together they pore through old Stark family photos. There are plenty of Maria with Tony as a baby, toothless and curious; a few of Howard and Tony; no shortage of Howard and Maria smiling stiffly, dressed to the nines at galas and press events. More than anything, though, the album is a time capsule of Tony’s youth.

“_Look_ at you!” Steve crows at one point, nearly grabbing the book from Tony’s hands in an attempt to take a closer look at a particularly adorable picture of Tony as a toddler. He was at a park and could only have been four or five, smile bright and curls askew. 

“Your hair still kinda looks like that,” Steve teases him, running a hand through curls that had become, somehow, messier with age.

They keep going, Steve reaching down and taking Tony’s hand in his when they get to an uncomfortable photo of Howard and Tony at Tony’s high school graduation, squeezing it gently in silent acknowledgment. Tony smiles and squeezes back.

When they turn the next page, Tony freezes. There’s a polaroid stuck in haphazardly of Tony as a kid, decked out in a Captain America t-shirt and matching baseball cap. If you knew to look for it and squinted, his Cap poster was a blur in the background. He cringes, wondering if there was _any_ chance Steve wouldn’t notice. As it is, everyone jokes about Tony’s childhood obsession with Captain America, but until now there had never been evidence that they were actually _right_.

“Wait… is that—” Steve starts to ask.

“No. Nope. Turn the page,” Tony interrupts.

“It _is!_ Tony!” Steve’s eyes light up when he realizes what he’s looking at, a light flush blooming on his cheeks. “Aw, Tony Stark was a Captain America fan back then?” Steve looks way too pleased by this information, and really, Tony had just been trying to Maria Kondo some of his shit, not deal with this. This was _not_ sparking joy.

“Alright, okay, I was. But it was hard not to be when your father is basically president of the fan club and dedicating all his time to finding you…” Tony mutters.

“_Was?_” Steve asks innocently.

“You’re a menace,” Tony mutters, flustered. “_Am_. My younger self had great taste, and I didn’t even know Steve Rogers then.”

“I bet we could find you a hat like that,” Steve laughs. “I might have a similar shirt somewhere…” he adds, thoughtfully, poking Tony in the side.

“Are you laughing at a child’s crush on a superhero, Steven? I thought Captain America had a stronger moral compass than this,” Tony says, faux horror on his face. “Excuse_ me_ for falling in love with you.”

Steve laughs again, shifting them on the bed so they’re sitting face to face, Tony nearly in Steve’s lap.

“It’s cute,” Steve says, leaning in for a kiss. “And I love you, too.”

When Steve moves up to the penthouse the next day, the picture is in a frame, sitting inside a well-loved, child-sized Captain America baseball cap.


	20. Back Rubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can i request some sweet stony with steve coming back roughed up after a mission (nothing serious) and tony giving him a back rub to help his achey babe?

It’s late when Steve gets home, only a dim light burning on the bedside table, Tony nearly asleep with his tablet on his stomach. Steve thought he’d be home long ago, had even texted Tony hours before, asking if he’d order pizza, Steve’s favorite post-mission meal. But then debrief ran way, _way_ longer than he expected. Steve considers himself a pretty patient guy, for the most part, but this mission had been rougher than anyone anticipated, and he wanted nothing more than a weekend in bed with Tony. By the time all the reports were filed and Fury finally released them, Steve’s hands were clenched into fists in his lap, back ramrod straight, his body feeling like one big bruise, throbbing and aching for something soft. 

He lets out a long, thankful sigh at the familiar sight of Tony and his soft bedhead and tablet, unaware he’d even been holding his breath so long. Tony looks up at the sound, a smile breaking across his face as he pulls himself up from the bed, and Steve can’t keep the matching grin from his face, even as exhausted as he is. No matter how many of these they go through, it never gets old, coming home to each other. 

“God aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Steve says, stepping into Tony’s outstretched arms and letting himself sink into the hug. He stays like that for a minute, Tony running his hands up and down Steve’s back and arms, taking him all in. He stops when Steve winces, eyebrows furrowed in concern when they break apart. Steve just shakes his head and sighs, immediately shedding his jacket and yanking off his tac pants, exchanging them for a pair of battered sweats and a white t-shirt. 

“Should I even ask how it went, or should the fact that it’s…” Tony pauses to glance at his phone, “nearly eleven o’clock speak for itself?” 

“Pretty much,” Steve says before flopping onto the bed face first. “Hmph,” he groans into the absurdly high, deliciously soft stack of pillows. 

Tony makes his way over to Steve and lays himself carefully beside him, murmuring into his ear. 

“What if… we have pizza in bed, and you let me give you a massage?” He says, running his thumb along the nape of Steve’s neck until he shivers a little. He shrugs into his pile of pillows, which Tony takes for a yes, and heads for the kitchen. 

Steve’s right where he left him when Tony gets back, and he eases him into a sitting position, holding out a plate with three slices of pizza stacked carefully: supreme, extra pepperoni. They’re such frequent customers that the pizza place has their order memorized and refused to charge them, which Tony compensates for with overly generous tips. Steve sits himself between Tony’s legs, and nearly forgets about the pizza altogether when Tony’s hands start moving. He starts by running his hands through Steve’s hair, landing at the base of his neck and massaging slowly, carefully. Steve’s head droops at the sensation, can already feel himself relaxing. 

Tony works his way down, working methodically at the knots in Steve’s shoulders and back until Steve can hardly remember what had him so tense in the first place. 

“How do you know exactly where…” Steve starts to ask, and Tony kisses his shoulder. 

“Because I know _you_,” Tony explains, moving his hands to Steve’s neck once more. “You carry all your stress just… here. At ease, soldier,” He says, kissing the words quietly into Steve’s warm skin. He keeps at it until he hears Steve give a content little hum, followed by a huge yawn. 

“Ah, that’s it,” Tony says, matching Steve’s yawn with his own. “I think my work here is done,” Tony says when Steve turns to face him, bringing their lips together softly. 

“Thank you, Tony,” he says, surprised to find that he _is_ relaxed, his body languid in Tony’s arms, eyes impossibly heavy. Tony presses a kiss to Steve’s temple and grabs the plate, pulling down the comforter and tossing throw pillows to the floor. 

“Shh, of course. You get in, I’ll be right back,” Tony says, running a hand through Steve’s hair one last time for good measure. 

“Y’promise?” Steve mumbles, burying his face in a pillow, his eyes immediately closing. 

Tony huffs a laugh. “Promise.”


	21. Don't Wait Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oo some superfamily with Steve walking in to find Peter asleep on Tony

“Whaddaya say Pete, bedtime?” Tony asks for at least the fifth time that evening, watching as Peter yawned and shook his head adamantly. 

“Nooo, wait for Daddy!” He pleaded. A few hours ago, Tony had agreed that they could wait up for Steve together, selfishly, because he was eager for Steve to come home himself, but also because he was pretty sure Peter would give in pretty early. The kid was used to an early bedtime, and Tony had been positive he would fall asleep, wake up in the morning, and find Daddy back where he belonged. No harm, no foul.

But Peter was definitely his child, if his stubbornness was anything to go by. Tony sighed and nodded. 

“Okay, okay, but it’s getting late, you sure you’re not tired?” He laughs when Peter just yawns again. He was sitting on the floor, playing with an army of stuffed animals after they read all his favorite bedtime books, and he turns and looks up at Tony.

“No. I’m coming up with you,” Peter declares, struggling to his feet. His little Captain American pjs are rumpled and riding up a little in the front, and he looks almost _too_ cute. Tony manages to grab a picture for Steve before Peter clambers up into his lap, a particularly well-loved stuffed dog clenched in his little fist.

He lets Peter settle in against him, curling into his chest with the dog in his arms. “You sure _look_ tired,” Tony says, running a hand through Peter’s curls. They were in desperate need of a brush after bath time, but Tony had no plans to deal with the unruly mop until the morning. 

“M’not. Daddy’s coming,” Peter says, sighing and curling in even closer. His eyes are already drooping shut and Tony smiles at him.

“He is coming,” Tony whispers. More to himself than anything he adds, “You put up a good fight, kid,” smiling when Peter’s breathing evens out and he’s out like a light. Tony presses a kiss to his head and tips his own head back. He might as well rest his eyes while he waited for Steve to get home. Then they could _all_ go to bed.

It only feels like a matter of minutes that they sit like that, Peter tucked into Tony’s arms, sound asleep, Tony close to nodding off himself, before he hears Steve’s voice from the doorway. 

“Psst, hey, sleepyheads,” he whispers, smiling warmly.

Peter doesn’t bat an eye, but Tony’s eyes flicker open and he sits up a little. “Hi, sweetheart. We were uh, waiting up for you,” he explains quietly. 

“I can tell,” Steve laughs, coming to sit next to Tony on the couches, kissing Peter’s cheek carefully. “He’s out like a light.”

“He fought with every fiber of his being, though. Stubborn kid kept saying he wasn’t tired.”

“Hm, wonder where he gets that?” Steve says with his eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Tony grumbles, leaning over for a kiss. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” Steve says, and with that, Peter opens his eyes. 

“Daddy’s home,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again and holding out his arms. Steve laughs and takes him from Tony, carrying him up to bed while Tony organized the army of animals and flicked the light off. 

When Tony wakes up the next morning, the internet is losing its mind over Captain America’s latest Instagram. Tony and Peter, asleep on the couch, and a caption that said simply, _Home_.


	22. Popping the Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. I think about the future and I all I can see is you.

Steve wasn’t sure when he started to feel more at home in the twenty-first century. It happened slowly, he was sure of it, until one day, he woke up and lived his life and didn’t have to think about it every step of the way. He’d worked hard to get to this point, catching up and asking questions even when he felt strange and his cheeks turned pink to do it. He figured it out slowly, but, something else he learned, was that it helped to have help. 

He and Tony had become allies along the way, and then friends, and then somehow, impossibly, they slipped into something much more than friends. Boyfriends sounded silly, because their relationship had always felt like so much _more_ than that. And now… Well, Steve hoped that soon they’d be engaged. He just had to work up the nerve to actually do it. He imagined it time and time again, laying awake at night trying to imagine his proposal unfolding for hours before he ever fell asleep. He’d had a ring for two months now, all he had to do was get his act together enough to actually pop the question. 

“You’re making _me_ anxious,” Bruce told him, not unkindly, one afternoon when they went for lunch together. The conversation had inevitably come around to Steve proposing, and while the team had been patient, even they’d had enough. “Tony’s never loved someone like he loves you. I mean, Rhodey might be more of an authority on that than anyone, but you know what I mean. You guys brings out the best in each other. He’s going to say yes, Steve.”

And he knew Bruce was right, he really did. Steve couldn’t articulate why he was so nervous. This was _Tony_. The love of his life, his best friend and teammate and playful rival all in one. Of course he would say yes. 

In the end, they were both caught off guard when it finally happened. Steve had the ring in his pocket. He _always_ had the ring in his pocket, like it might help him finally take the leap. They were standing in the kitchen, and it was nothing special, just another morning where Tony rolled in with his hair in a complete disarray, pillow lines still etched across his face. Steve leaned over and kissed one, softly, looking up and meeting Tony’s eyes with a crooked smile. 

“Look who finally decided it was time to rejoin the land of the living,” Steve teases him, grabbing two coffee mugs and filling them. 

“Ah, time jokes from America’s grandfather, the apple pie of my eye, my favorite man out of time,” Tony says, the last part through a yawn. 

He takes a grateful sip and a tiny drip escapes, rolling down his chin and onto his shirt and Steve watches him struggle for a minute before something clicks inside him. _This_ is who he wanted to marry. The man who could save the day but not take a normal sip of coffee. The man who could invent anything and then sleep for hours and hours on end, rolling out of bed when it suited him. _The person who gave him a home_. Steve looks at Tony for another second before setting his own mug down, reaching for his pocket, and dropping to one knee. 

“Tony,” he says, and when Tony finally focuses on Steve, hardly awake enough to register what was happening, his mouth gapes like a fish.

“Steve. What are- what are you doing?” His voice is stunned, breathy and sleepy and Steve can’t keep the answering smile from his face. Knows that after months of deliberating, spontaneous was how they operated.

“Tony. You said it yourself. I’m a man out of time, but together, somehow we made it work. We made _us_ work. You gave me a home. I want to spend forever exactly like this,” he pauses to laugh a little at Tony’s face before continuing. “I’ve had this for months now, and I pictured it a million different ways, but I think this fits, don’t you? Now, when I think about the future, all I can see is you. Tony Stark, will you marry me?”

Tony’s emphatic _yes_ is pressed into Steve lips, coffee-sweet and right on time. 


	23. All Dolled Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg can you write a stevetony where Tony wears makeup and Steve is a v supportive boyfriend/husband

“Hey, you ready to go?” Steve pokes his head in the bathroom where Tony stands in front of the mirror, studying his reflection. He freezes at the sound of Steve’s voice, opening and closing his mouth a few times like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Steve’s forehead wrinkles a little; confused but unsure what to ask. His eyes meet Tony’s in the mirror, and his confusion only grows. Tony looks almost guilty, caught in the act, but the act of what, exactly, Steve couldn’t begin to guess. 

“Yeah, I guess… I’m ready,” Tony says, his face falling just a little before he recovers, running a hand through his hair and picking up his sunglasses for the day. They’re only going to brunch, nothing special really, it wasn’t like they were getting ready for a gala or a press event, and Steve thinks Tony looks good; he _always_ thinks Tony looks good. Tony takes his time getting ready, hair always brushed carefully into place, an outfit meticulously chosen. He was fairly sure that Tony could go an entire year without wearing the same thing twice if he so chose. 

Steve joins him in the bathroom, winding his arms around Tony’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. He pulls a face in the mirror and Tony smiles a little, but it doesn’t go all the way to his eyes.

“Are you… not ready?” Steve asks, holding Tony’s gaze. 

Tony turns in Steve’s arms, studying Steve’s face until Steve can see him finally decide on his answer, doesn’t miss the trust in his eyes when Tony starts talking. 

“Do you ever just—not feel like yourself? Like your whole, real self, and it’s like, something’s missing, almost?” Tony asks, and Steve so desperately wants to understand. And in a way, he does. Since he came out of the ice, nothing had been the same. The guy who came out was very much not the one who went in, but that didn’t seem to be what Tony meant. 

“Kind of,” Steve tries. 

Tony gives him a small smile and tries a new tactic. “People are always watching us. Sometimes I don’t care. I have the armor, or a fun party trick. Even the glasses,” Tony shakes the pair he still had in his hand to illustrate his point. “Deflection. But sometimes, I just like to have a different type of armor,” he says, and his fingers stray to one of the vanity drawers, hovering over the handle. 

“You mean like… the nano tech?” Steve feels terrible, because Tony was quite clearly trying to tell him something and he just wasn’t getting it. 

Tony pulls the drawer open slowly, turning and meeting Steve’s eyes again and taking a deep breath. “Like makeup?” He asks so hesitantly that Steve hates it, because Tony Stark doesn’t _do_ hesitant, not ever, and he brings a hand to Tony’s face to reassure him, put an end to this new expression.

Tony pulls the drawer open all the way, and Steve sees that there are bottles and lipsticks and brushes and a million other things he can’t immediately identify, clearly well-organized and cared for and secreted away. 

“Most of the time I just use an eyelash curler and concealer when I’ve been working long hours,” Tony explains before Steve can react. “Nothing people ever really notice. When TV is involved, it’s expected, but then they cake it all on and I hate it. That doesn’t feel like me, either. I wish they’d just let me do it myself, but _apparently_ that’s not—” Tony stops himself, realizing he’s rambling. 

“You know how to use all this stuff?” Steve asks. Maybe it’s not the best first response, but it’s the first that comes to mind, and frankly, the idea of it is incredible to him. His Ma had one lipstick he remembered her bringing everywhere, circling her lips carefully, using it to the very bottom of the tube. That was pretty much the extent of his experience with makeup. 

“Well, yeah,” Tony laughs a little, less shy now. 

“Can you… show me?” 

Tony’s face lights up. “Darling, I’d love to.” He locks eyes with Steve again, giving him a smile that said it all. _Thanks_, and _I love you_, and _I’ve never shown this to anyone before_, a vulnerability that Steve knew was special, rare. 

Tony pulls out all the bottles and tubes and more brushes than Steve uses for most of his paintings, and turns back to the mirror, an artist at work, explaining everything as he went; the color choices and the products. Steve wasn’t sure how he kept it all straight, but he’s never been more tense than when Tony lifted an eyelash curler to his already gorgeous lashes. His determination to support Tony every step of the way was the _only_ thing stopping him from covering his eyes. 

Finally, Tony mists a spray over all his hard work, glances in the mirror, and turns to Steve, a little of his earlier hesitation in his eyes. 

“What do you think?” he asks, and Steve just stares at him. Tony’s huge, expressive brown eyes had always been one of Steve’s favorite things about his boyfriend, but now they were bigger, more defined, as expressive and _Tony_ as ever but somehow… more. His skin was flawless, his lips a bright cherry red that Steve would feel really bad messing up, but looked so kissable and red that maybe if he was really careful he could _just_…

He leans in and kisses Tony carefully, more than a little pleased when his reflection reveals that a little had transferred to his own lips. 

“Beautiful,” he says. “I mean, I always think so, you know that, but this is… a work of art,” he says, because it’s true. It hurts him a little to think of Tony doing all this and loving it and never sharing it with anyone, feeling like he _can’t_ share it with anyone.

Tony is visibly relieved, smiling at him. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Steve wraps himself around Tony again, head perched on his shoulder. 

“So, you ready to go?” he asks again. 

Tony pauses. “What, like this?” 

“You would take it all off? After all that work?” Steve is so incredulous at the idea that even Tony laughs. 

“I love that you appreciate the art of the cut crease and a good contour, sweetheart, but would you really want to go to breakfast with me like this? People will be looking,” Tony says, as if Steve needs reminding. 

“I would go anywhere with you looking like that or any way you choose. People are _always_ looking, Tony. Besides, you have your armor on this time,” Steve points out with a smile. 

Tony grins back at him and turns to kiss his cheek, a bright red kiss staining Steve’s pale skin. He wears that to breakfast proudly, too. 


	24. Room For One More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> omg you’re taking prompts?! how about a superfamily where bb Peter doesn’t like sharing Tony with anyone, even Steve

_“Daddy!” _

The sound of Peter’s little voice from across an aisle spins Tony around, his heart rate immediately slowing. Peter had managed to toddle off in the split second Tony turned his head to check the expiration date on a carton of milk, and he’d been half ready to call the police. He knew kids wandered off, but this was different. This was _Peter_. Tony does a double take when he sees Peter isn’t lost at all, but straining out of the grip of an extremely… pleasant-looking man. Tony shakes his head. The last thing he should be thinking about is a hot stranger when Peter could have just as easily been kidnapped. 

“Daddy!” Peter wails again, and upon seeing Tony nearly running for them, Hot Blond Guy puts Peter down with a grimace, before straightening up again and flashing Tony what could only be called a megawatt smile. 

“Peter! What did we say? You can’t just wander off! You could be taken away! How would I be able to find you then?” Tony worries at him, lifting Peter up and into his arms, where he stares up at Tony, bottom lip trembling.

“But you’re Daddy, you can do anything,” Peter says hopefully. While that was nice for Tony’s ego, it didn’t help the way his heart was still pounding, the million scenarios that flashed through his mind. He shakes his head at his son. 

“Not that,” he says, smiling sheepishly over at Blond Guy. Peter immediately starts crying and apologizing, burying his face in Tony’s chest. 

“Shh, it’s okay, okay? Just don’t go anywhere without telling me first, capisce? Nice people like…” Tony trails off and looks over at Peter’s savior. He couldn’t very well call him _Hot Blond Guy_ to his face. 

“Steve,” he supplies helpfully. “Steve Rogers.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tony holds out his other hand. “Tony and Peter Stark,” he says, pointing. “Nice people like Steve won’t always be the ones who find you,” Tony finishes, and Peter nods solemnly. 

“Capish,” Peter says, and Tony and Steve both laugh.

“Close enough,” Tony says running a hand through Peters hair and wiping the rest of his tears away with a careful thumb. “Think you can handle getting down? You can hold my hand and help me finish this list.”

“Yes!” Peter nearly leaps from his arms, securing his tiny hand in Tony’s and stands there gazing around, completely unfazed.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Tony says to Steve. “I swear one second he was there and half a second later…” He trails off, worry pinching his face. 

“Don’t mention it, he’s a kid, it happens. Though, should anyone ever actually try carting him off anywhere, little guy puts up _quite_ a fight. Wouldn’t say a word to me aside from screaming ‘Daddy’ a few times.”

Tony laughs and bites his lip. “Yeah he can be… possessive, I guess. I adopted him and it’s only ever been just the two of us, so,” Tony gives a little shrug. People had a hard time understanding them, a lot of the time. _Especially_ handsome strangers. Most of them weren’t up for a package deal like Tony and Peter. Not that he had to worry about it. They were at a supermarket, Tony didn’t know this guy from Adam, and he wasn’t even looking for anything right now. Mostly. 

“It’s sweet,” Steve says, bright blue eyes so earnest and open that it nearly bowls Tony over. 

They stand there for a few long seconds until Peter tugs on Tony’s hand. “Can we still get Pop-Tarts?” 

“Of course, Pop-Tarts. Strawberry frosted, right? Just one second, then we’ll go find them,” Tony agrees, looking back at Steve. The second they parted ways, they’d most likely never see each other again, which put something new and off-putting in Tony’s chest, but he couldn’t just ask him out, right here in front of the produce and god and everyone. 

_Could he?_

“Well, you should probably, uh,” Steve starts, sounding as hesitant as Tony felt and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Let me thank you! With coffee. Or dinner? Both?” Tony blurts out, horrified. Nothing like sounding over-eager. _Way_ over-eager.

“I love coffee. And dinner. Here, you can just.. uh, put your number in my phone and we can decide later,” Steve offers, holding it out. Tony takes it, heart hammering, and types it in, hands nearly shaking. 

Their quick trip to the store had been a roller coaster of emotions, that’s for sure. With a final _thanks_ and a wave, Tony and Peter are on their quest for Pop-Tarts. By the time they get home, Tony has a text waiting. 

_It’s grocery store guy. Steve. Coffee?_ Tony can’t keep the grin from his face.

–

They decide to meet for pizza the following evening. Tony was paying the babysitter double for the short notice, but he was pretty sure it would be well worth it. When there’s a knock on the door, the babysitter and Steve are both standing on his porch, and Peter comes hurtling up behind Tony to see what was happening. 

“Nooo, Daddy, please,” Peter wailed upon seeing Annie, the babysitter, walking in. Tony had hoped that maybe this _one time_ Peter would let him go out without doing this, but it appeared they weren’t there yet. 

“Petey, we were going to try and be better about this, buddy, remember?” Tony asks, shooting an apologetic look at Steve. 

“Not yet,” Peter says looking up at him with huge eyes. “I almost got _lost_ yesterday,” he reminds Tony, because he is a tiny, manipulative _gremlin_ when he wants something, and Tony’s heart sinks. He’s totally not going anywhere tonight, he realizes, but they _would_ be having another stern conversation. It was that or Tony saying a permanent goodbye to Steve Rogers. 

Tony looks at Steve, not at all sure what to do, when Steve saves the day for a second time. “We could order pizza here,” he says. “You like pizza, Peter?” 

Peter glares at him for a long moment, but eventually, his stomach wins out over his refusal to share Tony with… well, most people, really. “Yes,” he concedes eventually, not breaking his stare.

Steve beams at him, like he’s just been granted a huge favor, and Tony likes him that much more, for being great with Peter, for not caring about the change of plans, for thinking on his feet. The eyes and blond hair and perfect, Greek God body didn’t hurt anything either. 

“Great,” Tony says, turning to Annie. “I am so sorry about this, first the last minute thing and now the cancelling…” Tony says, pulling out his wallet. 

She lays a hand on his arm, laughing. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Stark, it looks like you have … a lot going on here. It was nice to see you, Peter, enjoy your pizza!” She waves goodbye and takes off, leaving the three of them looking at each other, until Steve pulls out his phone and asks Peter what he likes on his Peter. Tony just about swoons. 

Hours later, Tony is collecting the plates and straightening up in the kitchen, straining to hear what his son is saying to Steve. You never knew what was going to come out of a toddler’s mouth, and he didn’t need Peter inadvertently telling Steve any of the many embarrassing things that could come out. He wipes down the table and heads back to the living room, and he really doesn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop.

“…Of course I love him, he’s my _daddy_,” Peter is saying to Steve, like this is a very obvious point, and Tony melts a little. 

“He seems really great,” Steve says quietly. Tony was going to be a puddle on the floor soon. “You think I can hang out with you guys, sometimes?” 

Peter’s quiet, and Tony can picture the thoughtful look on his little face, how he scrunched it up when he was really thinking something through. 

“Maybe sometimes,” Peter agrees. Tony nearly falls down. In one evening, Steve is making more progress with his son than he’d made in weeks. He chooses that as his entrance point. 

“How’s it going in here?” 

“Good, I think Pete and I have come to an understanding, right pal?” Steve asks, holding out a fist. 

Peter nods seriously, bumping his tiny fist against Steve’s while Tony wonders vaguely about spontaneous human combustion. 

“Really? Wow, I’m impressed,” he winks at Steve, who blushes a little and shrugs like it’s nothing. 

They decide to put a movie on, and it’s not long before Peter nods off, sprawled out on the love-seat. Steve inches himself closer, not very much, but enough. They’re pressed together on the couch, shoulders and hips and legs, and Tony knows they have a long, slow road ahead of them, but he so rarely gets the chance to get to know someone, especially someone like Steve, that he’s happy to have this much. This gorgeous, kind guy who likes his kid and might just be okay with the scenic route. 

Tony’s heart thuds when Steve puts his hand on his, and it’s still not much, but it’s a first step. He smiles over at him. Another step. 


	25. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could you write Stony with "Dance with me?"

Steve stands at the bar, holding a beer that would do nothing to lessen the awkwardness of the evening, but gives him something to do with his hands, at least. He exhales loudly, watching Tony waltz across the floor with what felt like the millionth person of the night, and does his best not to roll his eyes. It felt like every time a song ended, someone else was dragging Tony back out to the dance floor. It’s not that Steve _blamed_ them; Tony was a great dancer. No, he was frustrated at his own two left feet and his inability to so much as talk to Tony. To ask him to dance himself, maybe use it as an opportunity to finally tell him how he felt….****

This whole shindig is for him, and he knows he should try a little harder to mingle and have fun. Steve gives himself five more minutes to contemplate the fact that he was one-hundred-and-one years old and he _still_ couldn’t get a date. He tries not to pout, but it’s clearly not working. Natasha wanders over, perching herself on a stool next to him and following his gaze over to Tony and back; Steve can feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. 

“You should just ask him,” she says. 

“Ask who, what?”

“Old but not wise, I see. _Tony. Dancing. _I know you know what I’m talking about, Steve,” Nat says. “What do you have to lose? You’ve survived worse than rejection. Which _won’t_ happen,” she adds, watching Steve’s face. “But if it does, Tony wouldn’t be cruel about it, you know that. But again, it doesn’t matter, because we’ve all seen the way he looks at you.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but snaps it closed again when Tony comes striding over to them, free at last.

“That’s the saddest face I’ve ever seen at a birthday party, Bomb Pop, and Rhodey has some pictures from my 40th. It’s your day, why the long face?” Tony asks, signaling to the bartender and asking for a club soda with lime. 

Steve just shrugs, which is enough to make Nat sigh enormously and saunter off with a pointed look at Tony. 

“Dance with me,” Tony says, and Steve can hardly look at him, blood rushing in his ears, making it impossible to think.

“Oh, no, I… don’t know how to dance,” Steve tries to argue. “Plus, your drink…” 

“Will be here when I get back. It’ll be fun, come on, you’re a centenarian, live a little,” Tony insists, grabbing Steve’s hand in his before he could protest again. 

Steve follows without a word, too distracted by how surprisingly soft Tony’s hand is. To Steve’s surprise, Tony doesn’t drop his hand, just lifts it a little in his, comfortably, placing the other on Steve’s hip and pulling him in. Steve feels like he’s vibrating, wonders if Tony can tell how nervous he is. He swallows a few times and gives Tony a small smile. 

“That’s more like it. See, not so bad, right?” Tony asks, swaying them gently, holding Steve close, closer than he’d held any of his prior dance partners, Steve can’t help but notice; he’d been watching fairly closely. Tony smells like expensive cologne and his citrusy hair gel and mint, and it’s lovely, enough to make the whole evening worth it, even if this was as close as he got. 

“Not so bad, but I haven’t stepped on your feet yet.”

“I won’t hold it against you, birthday boy.” Tony’s voice is so close to his ear that Steve gives an involuntary shiver.

He just hums a little in response, letting Tony continue to lead them. “You’re good at this,” he says. “Must be why everyone loves dancing with you so much.”

“Nah, they just like having a captive audience. Most of them want something from me,” Tony says lightly. “Do you know how many people I’ve asked to dance tonight?” he asks Steve, voice suddenly lower, more uncertain than it had been up to now. 

Steve looks at him, wondering if his hand was actually sweating or it just felt that way to him. “No, how many?”

“Just one.”

Steve raises his eyes to Tony’s, his breath catching. “Oh,” he manages to croak out, his throat feeling like the Sahara. They’re hardly moving now, just swaying slowly, Tony still holding Steve in close as a new song starts up, just as slow as the last.

Tony smiles, leaning in closer and closer and Steve is pretty sure he’s about to have at _least_ five years of birthday wishes come true if he was reading this right. He meets Tony’s eyes for a second and it’s all Tony needs to close the gap between them, bringing their lips together sweetly, slowly, just enough. 

“Happy birthday, Steve,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together and beaming at him.

Steve had to agree that it really, really was. 


	26. Steve Babysitting Sick Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you maybe write Steve taking care of a sick baby peter while Tony’s out on a business trip or smthn? I love your writing it’s literally some of my favorite stuff!!

“Just one more second, okay? It’s almost done, then we can have ice-pops, how does that sound?” Steve asks Peter quietly. Peter just nods at him, his eyes big and sad and _really_ not making Steve feel any better about their current situation. 

The thermometer beeps then, just in time, and Steve grimaces a little when he looks at it: _100.3_. Peter had been fussy all day, tired and not his usual vibrant, playful self. At first, Steve just thought he missed Tony. This wasn’t the first time they’d been alone together, but this was the first extended stretch of time. Tony had a three-day conference he was attending for work, and while he’d usually call a babysitter, Steve had insisted he was happy to look after Peter while he was away. 

Peter and Tony were notoriously attached at the hip, and Steve was still grateful, a year and a handful of months later, that he was allowed into their little world after a fateful trip to the grocery store. Peter started coughing a few hours ago, then complained that his throat felt “hot and bad,” and the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place for Steve. 

“Not feeling so hot, huh little guy?” Steve murmurs, lifting Peter up and into his arms. He feels the shrug of Peter’s slim shoulders against him and brushes a kiss to the top of his head before carrying him to the kitchen. Steve would make good on his ice-pop promise first, and while they ate, he would rummage through the bathroom cabinet for medicine, determining if he needed to run to the store or call Tony or both. Tony was on the last day of his conference, would be home tomorrow, and while Steve hated to interrupt or worry him, he was sure Tony would want to know if something was up with Peter

“You sit tight, okay? I think we were in the middle of _Moana_, so we can put that back on. What color ice-pop? Cherry’s your favorite, right?” Steve asks when he sits Peter down on the couch, little socked feet sticking out from underneath his beloved Spider-Man blanket. 

“Blue?” Peter asks, his voice small. 

“You got it. I’ll be right back. You help find the Heart of Te Fiti and I’ll be back before you know it,” Steve forces himself to sound cheery, but the kid was breaking his heart like this. He strides into the kitchen, grabs two blue popsicles, and rejoins Peter in the living room. 

“Here you go, this should help your throat and the fever, okay?”

Peter takes the popsicle from Steve and stares at it for a long minute, eyes huge and bottom lip wobbling. “I want d-daddy,” he says tearfully. 

“Hey, hey, I know, you’re sick and you miss him. I do, too! He’ll be back tomorrow morning. Right after breakfast. Think you can be brave with me until then? You’re doing so good,” Steve tells him, pulling Peter into his lap. 

Peter nods, but his bright, wet eyes tell Steve they’re not out of the woods yet, and he takes a bite of his popsicle and nudges Peter. “I think this is the longest I’ve seen you go without taking so much as a lick of one of these.”

Steve watches as Peter takes a few tentative licks at the popsicle, sees realization dawn on his flushed face as the popsicle eases his sore throat. _Thank god. _When they’re finished, Steve manages to locate a nearly full bottle of Children’s Tylenol, which Peter takes with surprisingly little difficulty. Honestly, Tony puts up more of a fuss when Steve encourages him to take an Aleve for a headache than Peter does with medicine that smells, admittedly, horrific. 

Things are going deceptively well for a few hours; they finish the movie, read a book, and have one more popsicle before Peter bursts into tears right before bedtime. 

“S-Steve I want _Daddy!_” He wails before Steve can even open his mouth. Peter crawls into Steve’s lap, dragging his blanket with him, and continues to cry and tell Steve how much he misses Daddy until Steve is ready to cry, too. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Pete, really. Why don’t we call him, would that help?” Steve asks, more for his own sake than Peter’s, because he desperately needed backup. 

Peter nods, sniffling, as Steve pulls out his phone. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Tony greets him, voice warm and fond and Steve is overcome with the urge to reach through the phone and pull him back home. 

“Hi, Tony,” Steve says, voice giving him away almost immediately. “We just wanted to say goodnight. I think Peter’s caught a cold or a bug or something. He had a low fever, and he’s complaining about his throat, but I found the Tylenol and he seemed to be doing better but, he really, really misses you tonight,” Steve explains in a rush. “I do, too,” he adds.

“Poor little guy,” Tony worries into the phone. “That’s daycare for you, all germs, all the time. How are you holding up? How is he holding up; any meltdowns?”

“I’m okay, I feel terrible, though, not being able to really do anything for him,” Steve admits. “He really wants to talk to you though, so I’m going to put you on speaker, hang on…”

Steve doesn’t need to tell Peter who it is, the little boy immediately grabs the phone and cries into it.

“Daddyyyy, can you come home?” 

“I’ll be home tomorrow, almost as soon as you wake up. How do you feel? Steve’s taking good care of you until I get back, right?” Tony’s voice is soothing and works like magic on Peter, immediately relaxing him. 

“My throat hurts. We had ice-pops. I got two ‘cause I’m sick. Blue and red,” he tells Tony.

Steve opens his mouth and looks over at Peter, mock-indignant. “I thought that was our little secret, tattle-tale!” He tickles him a little, earning a laugh from both Tony and Peter. 

“Sorry, Steve. Daddy, I still like Steve, but I miss you,” Peter continues with a yawn. 

“I know, I miss you, too. Why don’t we both go to sleep, that way we can wake up and I’ll be home? Then we can watch movies all day tomorrow, and maybe have an ice-pop or two.”

“‘Kay. I love you,” Peter says, drooping onto Steve’s shoulder and handing the phone back to him. “You too, Steve,” he adds, and Steve feels a warmth flood through his chest. He and Tony had said _I love you_ months ago, but Peter had been a hold out. The kid never said that to _anyone_ but Tony. 

“I love you, too, Pete. Goodnight. You, too, Steve,” Tony says, repeating after his son. 

“Wow,” Tony says when Steve takes the phone off speaker. “He _loves_ you. You’re really stuck with us now, Steve Rogers. My son has _excellent_ taste.”

“Well, I think he gets that from you,” Steve says, unable to keep the smile from his voice as Peter settles in against him. 

“I do though, love you. Thanks again for this weekend. It was great to do this, but I can’t wait to get back home with you guys,” Tony admits. 

Steve hums his agreement, looking down at Peter and thinking for the millionth time, how impossible it all was, that he found a family in the produce section. 


	27. National Kissing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Steve almost kissed Tony and one time Tony kissed him.

1\. 

The first time is way too early in the morning to even consider. 

“You’re putting me off my breakfast, Stevie,” Bucky mutters the minute Tony leaves the kitchen table for another cup of coffee. “Either kiss him or lay off the starin’.”

“Shh! Buck, God,” Steve replies, running a hand over his face. Up until now, he thought his small-but-growing crush on Tony was just in his head. Something he knew about, acknowledged, and expected to pass any day now, really. But then Bucky had noticed Steve “mooning over Stark like a thirteen year old schoolgirl,” and Steve started to question everything. Maybe his crush _wasn’t_ going away anytime soon. After all, it was kind of playground-ish, the way he felt about Tony. Like he wanted to scrawl their names together on debrief forms instead of a piece of lined paper during history class. He thought about what it might be like to kiss Tony more than he’d thought about Susie Klein in eleventh grade, after all. 

He just… He couldn’t help it, sometimes. The way Tony looked in the morning with his sleepy eyes and pink lips, the way he always had something quippy to say, something Steve could only dream of being able to do. Steve wasn’t sure where it all started, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. Steve is still thinking about Tony’s lips when he sits back down, slouched over a new cup of black coffee. Bucky does little to hide his groan of disgust, but Tony’s too sleepy to notice the pale pink flush spreading over Steve’s cheeks. 

2.

The next time, it’s after a battle, and Steve is lying in Tony’s arms, had been pushed from the top of a building by some kind of drone, only to be caught by Tony at the last second. Steve’d thought this would be it; the thing that finally ended him would be a piece of tech he could hardly wrap his brain around, when he heard the hum of the repulsors. Tony caught him before he hit the ground, and flat out refused to put him down, even when Natasha argued that Steve needed the Med Bay. 

“No one _needs_ that Nat, what he needs is a friendly face when he comes to. To not wake up alone and face two hundred questions about the events of this afternoon. He’s been through enough,” Tony argues, glaring at Nat and anyone else who might dare argue the point with him. Steve goes still in Tony’s arms. He felt bad lying, letting Tony carry him and argue on his behalf while he was still semi-conscious, but Tony’s arms were so solid, so _safe_ in a way Steve hadn’t felt in a long time. It was … nice. 

_So_ nice that Steve lets himself think about Tony waiting for him to wake up. Tony holding his hand and murmuring quietly at him. He didn’t need to say anything special, just facts and figures, things about the bots, maybe, or Tony’s plans for uniform upgrades for the team. It would be nice, having Tony there with him, Steve thinks, a warmth gathering in his chest until the events of the day blur in his mind. Someone to worry after him, to care about him. Having Tony there to wake him up with a kiss, like he mentioned after the battle of New York. 

When he wakes up and Tony is there beside him at nearly four in the morning, Steve is _sure_ he’d dreamt the warm lips on his forehead, the hands in his hair, the whispered promises of _never again. _

3.

The third time is way too close for comfort. It’s clearly a setup, a devious plan concocted by Nat and Bucky. They ask Tony and Steve to join them for lunch, to regroup about _plans_ and _team building_ and a ton of other equally bullshit topics, Steve realizes way too late. When Tony and Steve arrive at a little corner diner, Nat and Bucky are clearly not coming, though they wait a full thirty minutes after Steve and Tony arrive to text and say as much.

It starts off like any other lunch, relaxed and comfortable, two friends and teammates sharing a meal is nothing new, not for the two of them, though Steve’s heart pounds when he tells Tony he’s got this one, asks if Tony wants to split a milkshake. And he knows, okay, he knows that Tony could pay for millions of lunches, and that sharing a shake doesn’t mean the same thing it meant when Steve was dating in the ‘40s, but it means something to _him_, and he knows he doesn’t imagine the nervous smile Tony gives him when he nods his agreement that strawberry sounded delicious. 

Steve’s not so delusional that he imagines the way Tony leans into him when they leave the restaurant, forced to shared an umbrella when the skies open up. What Steve is, however, is too chicken to close the last few inches between them while they walk back, pressed close together, to kiss him. 

4.

“How many _almosts_ are you going to have before you finally do something about this?” Natasha asks Steve one night when they both find themselves awake in the kitchen. “One of you needs to make a move. You’re acting like _children_ and you’re stressing everyone out. It’s not good for Bruce,” she says, as if Bruce hadn’t held things together better than the rest of them during any mission or debrief or argument over what movie to watch as a group. Steve can’t help but roll his eyes.

“It’s not that easy,” he says, whirling around in his chair at the sound of footsteps behind them. 

“What’s not so easy? I bet I could prove you wrong,” Tony’s voice declares, and Nat doesn’t even attempt to keep the smirk from her face. 

“Ah, Stark, if anyone can prove that, you can,” she says, before excusing herself to deposit her mug in the sink and attempt to sleep once again. Tony just looks between her and the grim expression on Steve’s face and shakes his head, confused.

“What was that all about?” He asks, running a hand through his hair and sinking into the seat vacated by their favorite assassin. 

“Nothing. I don’t know,” Steve mutters. “Want some tea?” He asks, eager for a distraction and already getting up and grabbing a mug from the cabinet. He’s so focused on the tea and the milk that he doesn’t hear Tony come up behind him until he feels a soft hand at his elbow. 

“You know I’d help you with anything, right?” Tony says, voice low and warm, close to Steve’s ear. It warms him more than the tea, more than anything can or would. He turns, and his eyes linger a moment too long on Tony’s lips before finding safety in his wide brown eyes. Steve clears his throat and presses the mug into Tony’s hand, letting their fingers brush a second too long. 

“Of course, Tony. You know I’d do the same for you.” Steve has nothing to lose, this time. They’re alone, the lights are dim and warm, and Tony is looking at him like he’s offering a life line, which he is, in a way. If anything, Steve could blame a failed kiss on sleep deprivation and confusion, but instead, they continue standing there together, close but not touching, listening to the quiet. 

5\. 

The last time is another clear setup, this time arranged by the whole team. Steve sighs heavily when he and Tony are the only ones who show up for what Clint called “The First Monthly Avengers Game Night.” It’s a game alright, but not one that involved a board or a deck of cards. 

Tony arrives a few minutes after Steve, looking at the empty room, the bowl of popcorn, and the stack of board games Steve had spent hours digging out from the attic. 

“I haven’t seen some of those since I was four,” Tony says, gesturing to the Battleship box on the coffee table. 

“You played Battleship at four?” Steve asks, smiling widely over at Tony when he sinks in beside him on the couch. 

“I graduated college at fifteen, of course I could play a two-person game alone at four and win…” Tony explains, and it should be funny, but he just sounds sad. 

Steve doesn’t have to ask before Tony continues. “J would play sometimes, but he had a whole house to look after, events to plan. Howard and Maria…” Tony trails off, shrugging a little like it didn’t matter much to him, but Steve’s stomach gives a sympathetic twinge. He hadn’t had much growing up, but he had his Ma and Buck, which meant he always had someone to make up games with. 

“Come on, let’s see if those four year old skills stand the test of time,” is all Steve says, and Tony’s look of relief tells him he made the right choice. 

After Steve manages to beat him two out of three games, putting his master tactician skills to good use, Tony falls asleep on his shoulder, and it’s _nearly_ too much for him. 

“S’cause you’re cute. …I let you win,” Tony mumbles into Steve’s t-shirt, and Steve’s mouth goes dry while his brain works double time hoping against hope that Tony remembers this in the morning. 

+1

When it finally happens, it’s not Steve at all, but Tony who makes the first move. He makes an event of it, of course, because there’s nothing low key about Tony Stark. It’s half of what Steve loves about him. 

“You know what today is?” Tony says in greeting when Steve opens his door. Tony had showed up unannounced, a strawberry milkshake in hand, the Battleship box tucked under his arm, and a look of apprehension on his usually confident face that sets Steve’s heart racing.

“Uh, Saturday?” Steve asks, eyebrows coming together. Tony never showed up without reason, and Steve was mentally running through dates, making sure it wasn’t anyone’s birthday, no press event he’d forgotten about, somehow. 

“Saturday, July sixth,” Tony nods, laying a hand on Steve’s chest and pushing him inside, closing the door behind them. “A national holiday, Steven.” 

“It’s… that was two days ago. Fourth of July, Tony, it’s over, we had the barbecue and…” He trails off, because Tony is really looking at him now, had put the cup and the box down, and they were so close together that Steve could hardly think straight. 

“It’s only right to celebrate,” Tony says quietly, and Steve nods, because sure, this was Tony, and he’d celebrate anything with him, if that’s what he wanted.

Steve is still nodding when Tony leans in, doing what Steve hadn’t managed in god knows how long, and brings their lips together. It’s clumsy and awkward at first, all noses and teeth and tongue colliding until they find their rhythm and then it’s _perfect; _months of wanting and anticipating and planning, and everything slots into place for Steve, the milkshake, of course, the game, Tony’s anxious face. 

He’s smiling, leaning their heads together when they break apart, panting lightly. “But, what…”

“Happy National Kissing Day, Steven,” Tony grins at him. 


	28. A Run-In With Tiberius Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can I request stony going on a date, tony reaches the place early and is harassed by one of his exes (tiberius????) and then steve comes and is super protective!

Tony looks around the bar, half expecting Steve to be waving at him, but it seems that for once, Tony beat him here. Typically, Tony is a pretty punctual guy, but Steve _always_ managed to arrive places first, no matter how early Tony got ready or left his apartment. It’s become something of a personal challenge to beat Steve, and Tony can’t help but feel a little triumphant at finally achieving it. Their favorite hole in the wall bar, Tito’s, is full but not packed, and even better, the music is loud enough to be fun, but not so much that you had to scream to have a conversation. It was the perfect place to come for a few beers and get to know someone, which is exactly what he and Steve are still doing. 

They’re taking things slowly. Slower than Tony was used to, definitely, but not in a bad way. It was kind of nice, having someone really listen to him and want to know things about him without expecting something from him, whether that thing was sex or money or access. They hadn’t gone much further than fooling around yet, which was _definitely_ new, and there was a time when Tony might have found that boring, but now… Well, now he had Steve, and he was learning that he didn’t always need to be running at a sprint. 

Steve was different. Tony thought about it every time they texted, every time they went out. Maybe it was because he was an artist; does that make people more thoughtful and broody? Maybe. Tony had a feeling that the kindness Steve showed everyone, especially Tony, was all his own, though. Tony smiles a little to himself and finds a few empty seats towards the end of the bar. 

He orders a beer, pulling out his phone to check the time and send Steve a teasing text about being late when a voice behind him makes his stomach bottom out and he freezes, mid-text, whirling around in his seat.

“Tony Stark, drinking all alone? What’s the occasion? Howard finally fire you? Got caught with your pants down…literally? Although, you never really needed an occasion to get shit-faced, did you Stark?” Two years apart and Tiberius Stone’s voice still made Tony’s skin crawl. He could feel his whole body breaking out in a sudden, cold sweat and he whips his head around to check the door, hoping Steve might show up right in the nick of time. 

“Waiting for someone, actually,” Tony says, voice clipped. He doesn’t meet Ty’s eye when he talks. He doesn’t deserve a response at all, really, Tony just knows him well enough to know that ignoring him only makes things worse. Ty never did will with not being the funniest, smartest, _best_ person in a room, and he did not take kindly to being ignored. 

Tony’s phone lights up with a text from Steve and he glances down at it. 

_Sorry I’m late, this woman’s dog slipped his collar and I helped her chase him down. I’m sweaty, but I’m on my way. This totally doesn’t count as you beating me there, though :)_

Tony isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Of course Steve was late because he was chasing a runaway dog. The guy’s basically a golden retriever himself, Tony thinks. 

“Someone who?” Ty interrupts his thoughts with his sneering voice and Tony sighs. 

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, Ty. Besides, I’m sure there’s someone else in the vicinity you can torture. You’ve walked this particular path already and we both know how you hate being bored.”

“I thought you weren’t a relationship guy?” Ty accuses. 

He’d always been bitter that Tony had actually stood up to him and ended things, managed to escape the poison he tried to put in his head long enough to change his number, find a new apartment building, and cut ties with their — his — friends. It’d taken forever, but Tony was finally treading water again. He had a new set of friends, _real_ ones, hobbies, a local bar that knew his order by heart. _Steve Rogers._

“I wasn’t a relationship with _you_ kinda guy. Believe it or not, constant ridicule and social climbing aren’t a huge turn on.” Tony hopes he sounds casual, because he certainly feel anything but. 

This was a conversation he never wanted to have. Ideally, he’d never speak to Ty again, not just because he teamed up with Howard in an attempt to get Tony fired from his own company, but he was, putting it mildly, _a complete dick_. Ty was the reason Tony stayed single for so long, or went home with strangers who knew nothing about him. Steve was the first person Tony had opened up to, had really _wanted_ in years and Ty was not about to make him doubt himself. 

“Not that you remember much of our relationship, Tony, but it wasn’t _all_ me,” he says, because Ty had a lack of self awareness that combined hideously with his nerve and privilege and allowed him to believe such a thing. Tony could admit that he drank a lot when they were together; mostly so he could dull his senses enough to be honest with his so-called _friends_ about how miserable he felt. However, he hadn’t been the alcoholic Ty continued to paint him as, but that was neither here nor there. Because Tony was doing better, _much_ better. He hadn’t been seeing a therapist for over a year to still believe that the destruction of life as he knew it was his own fault, and not the manipulations of Tiberius Stone. 

“I’m sure he remembers too much as it is.” Tony nearly falls out of his chair at Steve’s voice, deeper and angrier than he’d ever heard it. He’d been so focused on keeping his own voice even and not throwing a swing, or worse, letting Ty see how upset he was, that he completely missed Steve walking over. 

Ty’s eyes narrow at the interruption. “Uh, who are you?” He asks, looking Steve up and down. 

Steve looks nice in a blue button up and a pair of jeans. The sleeves are rolled to his elbow, and he does look just slightly out of breath from his run through the neighborhood, but still, perfect. His eyes manage to gleam even in the dim bar lighting, though not with the fond, friendly look Tony had come to know. Steve’s whole face is darker somehow, vibrating with a barely concealed fury. Tony had told him the whole, sordid story when they did the walk down relationship lane thing late one night. Steve was horrified, using words Tony had never heard leave his mouth before. Tony tried to downplay it, assuring Steve that he had nothing to worry about, because at the time, he never envisioned something like this happening. 

“Steve. Rogers.” Steve holds out a hand, always polite, but Tony sees the way Ty’s eyes widen at how hard Steve grips his palm. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m a terrible liar.”

Ty just glares at him, and Tony has to bite back a smile, because Ty Stone without words is a sight to behold. It doesn’t last long, though, before Ty turns to face Tony again, a smug grin on his face. 

“Figures you found yourself someone who could fight your battles for you. Otherwise you’d have to run away. Again.” Ty never knew when to quit, and he’s still staring at Tony when Steve taps him on the shoulder, his jaw set with determination. For a moment, Tony thinks Steve might really hit the smirk right off Ty’s face. 

Instead, when Ty turns around, Steve grabs him by the opening of his collared shirt and drags him away from Tony like he’s nothing more than a sack of flour. Steve is strong, used to lifting far more weight, and Ty cries out in surprise. Jason, the bartender, looks up in momentary alarm, though when he sees Steve, nods, trusting that he had things under control. 

“I’m sure this has been fun for you, torturing an ex-boyfriend of almost two years. I guess you didn’t get enough of that while you were actually dating him. Fortunately, Tony has moved on, and while he does not _need_ someone to fight his battles, I’m telling you that it’s time for you to go now, and you would be wise to listen. If anyone sees you in here again, talking to Tony Stark or otherwise, believe me, I will know, and you won’t make that mistake again,” Steve growls at him, giving him one last push toward the door. Ty is a dumbass, but he’s smart enough to leave without so much as a backward glance at Tony or Steve. 

Tony resists the urge to stand up and cheer, or throw himself into Steve’s arms _Dirty Dancing_ style, but he can’t keep the relief from his face. 

“Uh, is this seat taken?” Steve deadpans, his face flushed, either from anger or embarrassment at having made a scene, Tony isn’t sure, but it looks so cute on him that he’s in no hurry for it to fade. 

“Saved for blond, blue-eyed, white knight types.” Tony stands before Steve can sit, staring up at him, and it’s incredible really, how Tony can see the tension and anger drain from his face, watches as his muscles relax. He wraps himself around Steve wordlessly, and they stand there like that for a minute, breathing deeply. It’s a little more PDA than they’re used to, but the situation kind of warranted it. 

“Thank you,” Tony murmurs into Steve’s chest when they finally pull apart just an inch. 

“I really didn’t mean to swoop in like that. You could have handled it on your own. I’m sorry if I took it too far, but I just—you told me all that stuff about him, and your face when I walked in… just, something snapped a little.”

“Steve, really, thank you. You didn’t take anything too far. He deserved it, we both know that. I don’t know that I deserve _you_, but you haven’t run screaming from me yet, so,” Tony smiles as Steve reaches down and laces their fingers together. 

“Tony,” Steve looks at him, his eyes serious now. “You deserve so much better than what that guy did to you. Please tell me you know that.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Tony’s temple. 

Tony can’t help the warmth that floods him. The look in Steve’s eyes was almost too much, it made him feel like his heart was too big in his chest. 

He nods, turning and pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder. “I know.” He’s reminded suddenly of the old story, the tortoise and the hare, and lifts his eyes to meet Steve’s once more. _Slow. Steady._ They were going to be just fine. 


	29. Accidental love confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can I ask for stevetony + accidental love confessions? :D

It’s weird, seeing Tony out of commission. Steve watches him sigh hugely and turn to face the door, noticing Steve for the first time since he entered the room. 

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says, and he looks pathetic, really, he’s got the sad puppy eyes thing down to a _science_. 

“How we doing, Tony?” Steve asks, sliding himself into the corner of the couch Tony wasn’t sprawled on, his movements precise, careful not to touch him. It’s crazy, Steve knows this, it’s not like Tony will know how he feels if their legs touch or something, but still. Sometimes it feels that way. Tony is so physical with everyone, touching and hugging and always slinging his arms around shoulders. Everyone except Steve, that is, and at some point he’d accepted this as a kind of silent agreement between them, ignoring every impulse to lay a comforting hand on Tony’s arm, or wrap his arms around him after a particularly brutal battle, even sit too closely on the couch during a movie. 

“This might be the longest I’ve seen you go without moving,“ Steve says, distracting himself from Tony’s close proximity. 

“A broken leg will do that to you, Firecracker.” Tony rolls his eyes. “I _hate_ this, in case you were wondering.”

“Yeah, your face kind of says it all. Anything I can do?” There’s so _much_ he wants to do, starting with shifting Tony’s pillows and rubbing his back to kissing the pout from his face, distracting him from how useless Steve knows he already feels. So he asks, in case Tony needs something Steve might actually be able to give him. 

“Actually… I left my tablet in the workshop, and I’m bored out of my mind up here. I’ve been waiting for someone to guilt into it, but since you’re offering,” Tony gives his best angelic smile, his whole face crinkling in a laugh at the face Steve makes in response, which he counts as a win. That look could make Steve do just about anything, though Tony didn’t need to know that. 

“Sure, I’ll be right back,” Steve promises, and he doesn’t know what comes over him, sympathy, maybe, or the sad look he witnessed earlier, combined with his inescapable _feelings_ for the man, but Steve lets his hand rest a minute on Tony’s shoulder, warm and comforting, a reminder that Steve is here, that he didn’t even need to be guilted into helping Tony. If he didn’t know better, Steve would swear he felt Tony relax into him, just a little.

—

When Steve gets to the lab, he finds Peter there, poking around at something on Tony’s workstation, his curly head and focused face all too familiar. Steve can’t help but smile at the sight of him, knowing how much Tony loved the kid. 

“Hey, Captain Rogers,” Peter exclaims, looking up in surprise. 

“Hey, Peter. Does Tony know you’re down here?” Steve asks, scanning the room for the tablet and raising his eyebrows. 

“Yep! Mr. Stark said I could work on my physics project here. Said if he can’t get down here, someone might as well put it to good use. Kinda sounded like he was trying to make me feel bad, but it’s due tomorrow, and he’s really not here, so…” Peter shrugs. 

“Fair enough. Any idea where his tablet is? I won the _first to walk by _contest and was sent on a mission to retrieve it.”

Peter freezes for a split second before looking to the right and grabbing the lost tablet, passing it over to Steve, his face strangely unreadable. 

“Here you go!” 

The screen lights up, lines of emails revealing themselves, and Steve makes a face. 

“He left it unlocked like this?” He might be from the past, but he’s caught up enough to know that no one left things unlocked, certainly not Tony Stark. 

Peter just shrugs again, noncommittal. “Must’ve,” he says vaguely, looking back down at whatever he was working on. Steve sighs and turns to go, leaving him to his homework.

He doesn’t mean to read the emails, really. He can only see the first few lines, and he wouldn’t have read that much if he didn’t see his name right there on the screen, plain as day. 

_Have you talked to Steve?_ The note was from Rhodey, just this morning. 

Then, beneath it: _You can’t just tell someone you love them out of the… _

The message cuts off there, and Steve’s heart just about stops, guilt and giddiness flooding him. That was Tony to Rhodey, just a few _hours_ ago. He wasn’t meant to read this, there’s no way Tony would have sent him to get the thing in the first place if he knew… 

Steve freezes. Turns back around. 

“Peter!” 

The kid has the decency to look at least a little sheepish, since it’s clear he knows _exactly_ why Steve is calling him. 

“I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but you guys never would’ve figured it out on your own,” Peter smiles mischievously. This was _such_ a Tony plan, Steve was almost proud. Maybe he would’ve been if his heart wasn’t pounding so hard.

He glances back down, feels his cheeks heat up when Peter’s smile grows bigger. 

“So I… I should just…”

“Talk to him!” Peter crows.

Steve can’t prove it, but he’s pretty certain he hears Peter muttering something that sounds a lot like _And_ he’s _the master tactician…_ as he retreats back up the stairs.

–

“Okay, this time _your_ face says it all…” Tony says, worried when Steve re-enters the living room. “What’d he break?” 

“Break? Oh. Peter. Yeah, no, he didn’t… Nothing’s broken, exactly, but…” 

“Steve, breathe for me. Somewhere in there is a sentence.”

“I found this, but there was something on the screen. And it was unlocked, which I think we can blame on Peter. I didn’t _mean_ to read your email, so that’s on me, but I saw my name and I just… Anyway, Peter said we wouldn’t figure things out ourselves, and I think he’s right, because you said it yourself, you couldn’t…” Steve swallows hard. “I can’t just _tell_ someone that I love them out of the blue, but,” he says, because somehow using Tony’s own words makes it easier. 

Tony pales a little, and Steve is momentarily grateful for his cast, forcing them see this through. 

Tony looks up and takes a deep breath, clearly weighing his options. “I know, right? I never shut up, it shouldn’t be hard.” Tony huffs a laugh, but it comes out as more of a sigh. 

“But even when I finally admitted it to myself, and everyone else figured it out, and Rhodey wouldn’t get off my _back_ about it, I couldn’t. Quickest way to get me to shut up lately is to ask me about _you_, Steven. But now… Now you read it, and hey, you came back! So I’m taking it as a good sign, and really, all of this actually makes it easier to…” Tony pauses, his shoulders set, decision apparently made.

“But I think I love you,” Steve says before he can chicken out, just as Tony breathes out a confession of his own, saying it out loud and making everything suddenly, stunningly real.

“…Tell you I’m in love with you.”


	30. Missing, Presumed Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s plane goes down on his and Tony’s first wedding anniversary.

Steve’s plane goes down on their first wedding anniversary. It took them years to get together, another few before Tony managed to sputter out a proposal late one night, throwing his arms around Steve and his meticulously planned proposal out the window. 

It isn’t fair. Tony only had a year married to Steve. They were supposed to have so much more. They were supposed to have a _lifetime_, that was the plan. Steve was crazy about plans. Now, Tony doesn’t have Steve, and he’s never had less of a plan. He was adrift, directionless. Numb. 

Tony and Steve were technically retired, but since neither of them could give anything up cold turkey, they still helped out here and there. Steve mostly did the tactical thing, helping with strategy and plans, only going along on some of the smaller missions when someone was sick or hurt. Tony, of course, could hardly turn his back on his toys, his endless quest to keep the people he loved most in the world safe. Not that it mattered, in the end, because nothing he made could have kept a plane in the sky, except, maybe, his suit. That was an anxiety spiral for another day, though. 

Steve was supposed to be back in the early evening, the day of their anniversary. When the comms lines go down and he doesn’t come home on time, Tony does his best not to panic. These things happened sometimes, wires got crossed, things blew up, missions ran long. That was all part of the job. But it kept getting later and later, and the dinner he’d made was too cold, the champagne too warm, the gifts unopened. The first anniversary was the paper anniversary, and while Tony knew he should try to keep with tradition, he thought his plan was better. He turned his very first arc reactor into a frame, putting a picture from their wedding day inside. It spoke for itself, really. _Proof Tony Stark has a heart. _

Tony spends the rest of their anniversary alone, worried, demanding to talk to Fury, to Rhodey, to anyone who might be able to give him an answer, but no one has one. He’s never felt so helpless. Somehow, after hours of worrying and pacing, he manages to fall asleep. It seems impossible, to think that he could sleep without Steve, without so much as knowing where he was, if he was okay. But the phone ringing wakes him at three in the morning, and he knows. Phone calls at that hour can only mean something terrible has happened. Tony answers with shaking fingers.

“Tony?” A voice asks, uncertain and quiet but recognizably distraught. 

“Yeah? Steve, is that you? Who is this?” Tony struggles to sit upright and blinks the sleep from his eyes, unease filling his stomach. 

“It’s Sam. Tony, I… The plane went down, Tony. I don’t know how to… W-we think Steve’s—” Sam stops talking and there’s a shuffling Tony knows is a sob, and so he sits there, waiting in an empty bed while an icy cold panic settled over him. He was lightheaded, suddenly, aware that his breaths were coming in ragged gasps. He never wants Sam to finish that sentence, even though he already knows. 

“…We don’t think Steve made it, Tony.” 

Tony doesn’t remember much after that, though ostensibly, Sam managed to make other calls, and someone eventually found Tony, slumped over in his bed, passed out. Shock, people told him. And sure, shock was part of it, but he knew what it was; loss, an overwhelming, numbing grief so immense that his body took over what his brain couldn’t process. Still didn’t _want_ to process. 

They have a memorial, not even a real funeral, because there was nothing to bury, which hurt the most. There was no goodbye, no sense of an ending. Steve was just _gone_. What should have been a simple mission gone so awry that he was simply gone. It didn’t make any sense. Tony was a man of science and logic and nothing about this was logical. 

Two weeks pass in a fog. People come in and out, bringing Tony food he’ll never eat, water he wished was whiskey, words that felt hollow. He didn’t meant to shut himself away from everyone, but he couldn’t help it. Steve wasn’t coming back. Part of him knew that, but the rest of him wouldn’t accept it. So instead he spent days, weeks in the lab, reviewing things that could have saved him. Tony made more shields than Steve could have used in a lifetime. He knew it didn’t help, knew it wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t just…do nothing. It felt like he lost Steve all over again, like time stopped, every time he sat down. He was empty. If Steve was proof Tony had a heart, what did he have now but a void?

– 

When Rhodey comes running down to the lab one afternoon, Tony almost panics again, before realizing he has already lost the most important person in his life, and nothing, no terrible thing, could ever be worse. But Rhodey wasn’t here to tell him a terrible thing. In fact his face looked… it looked like… 

“What? What’s happening? Why are you looking at me like that?” Tony is shaking, immediately. 

“Tony, I need you hear me out and not freak out okay?” Rhodey walks him to the futon in the corner of the workshop, and Tony feels his knees give out beneath him. Huh. How long _had_ he been down there? 

“Just tell me,” Tony sighs. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than…” 

“They found him.” Rhodey wraps an arm around Tony, steadying him. “I’m going to bring you to the hospital. They helicoptered him over. He’s in rough shape, but he’s alive. He’s going to be okay, Tony.” 

Tony looks up, emotion thick in his throat, unable to say a word. He meets Rhodey’s own tear-filled eyes and nearly collapses again, with relief this time. He lets Rhodey hug him, lead him to the car, and to Steve’s side, feeling like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Steve would be gone again. 

– 

It’s a long wait. Hours and hours before Tony can even get into Steve’s room, and when he does, it’s terrifying, a mess of beeps and tubes and wires. Steve looks bruised, thin, but he’s here. He’s _alive_, and Tony knows all about being patient these days. He grips Steve’s hand with everything he has, and he waits. He talks to him, telling him everything he missed while he was gone. The dinner, the gift, the champagne. Dumb things, trivial things, he knows, but it’s what he can manage. He doesn’t want to stress Steve out if he can hear him, burdening him with his grief. 

Impossibly, Tony manages to fall asleep this time, too, and it’s Steve’s voice that wakes him, voice raspy with disuse, but undeniably his. Tony sobs into his lap, knows he’s incoherent with how many times he says _I love you_ and _thank god, I love you, thank god, thank god, thank god_, before climbing into the bed with his husband, even an inch between them too much. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Happy anniversary,” Steve says into Tony’s hair. 

The machines beep around them, proof that Steve was really back and _his_ and alive. Proof that Tony Stark still had a heart. 


	31. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a soft spot for parents who run themselves ragged taking care of a sick kid and then need to be aggressively cared for themselves. What about a scenario that starts when out-of-town Tony comes home to find the kid on the mend but a stressed-out, super sick co-parent Steve who Tony needs to coax out of damage-control mode in order to cuddle. Or vice versa, if you prefer sick!Tony ;)

Tony opens the door, exhausted, eager to be home and reunite with Peter and Steve, but stops when he opens the door, nearly dropping his keys in the process. He’s pretty sure hurricanes have caused less damage than what’s been done to the Rogers-Stark household in the time he’s been away. Steve mentioned that Peter was sick, but made it sound like everything was under control, and this was… the opposite of under control. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink when the dishwasher was _right there_, and there were socks and toys and stuffed animals covering nearly every available surface. Steve had clearly pulled out all the stops trying to comfort Peter between Tony being away and the latest bug. 

When Peter got sick, they were learning, it happened in the blink of an eye, but he recovered just as fast. Preschool germs were rampant, but all the kids seemed to bounce back quickly, nearly immune to each other and every gross, drool-covered surface in the classroom. A sick kid could be almost more of a handful than a healthy one, though, and Tony feels guilt twinge in his chest for not being there. He picks up discarded blankets, toys, and debris as he makes his way to the living room, where he finds Steve laying face down on the couch while Peter played with a few of his latest favorite toys on his back. 

“Anyone wanna explain why it looks like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and Toys R Us imploded in my house?” Tony says in greeting, smiling widely when Peter launches himself off of Steve and into Tony’s arms. 

“Daddy’s back!” He yells, and Steve does his best to lift his head from the pillow, smiling weakly over at Tony and Peter, who is hanging from Tony’s neck like a baby koala.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve rasps, and it just like that, the mess, the way Peter was clearly the one running the show, it all comes together. 

“Uh oh, someone couldn’t hang with the five and under crowd,” Tony says, making his way over to Steve. He deposits Peter on the floor and strokes a hand through Steve’s hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick too? I would’ve come home earlier; you know I’ll take any excuse to give board members the slip.” 

Steve rubs his face against the throw pillow he appeared to be burrowing into and groans with a shrug. 

“We were doing okay until yesterday morning. Peter started feeling better, but then I started to feel _worse_ and I couldn’t keep up with him. I’m sorry about the mess, I just…” Steve turns to the side to cough, clearing his throat miserably. “It was the field trip,” Steve croaks.

While Tony was away, Peter’s class went on a field trip to the aquarium, which Peter had been off the charts excited about. His new thing was _Finding Dory_, which they’d all watched no less than three hundred times, and he could not wait to find all the fish when they went; the fact that Steve would be chaperoning the trip only added to Peter’s excitement. Tony had to admit, the pictures he got from Steve, candids of Peter with his face pressed against the glass tanks, or a posed photo of him holding up a stuffed clown fish were almost enough to make him turn his plane around to join them. However cute the day had been, though, it’d clearly massacred Steve’s immune system. Tony doubted his husband had been this sick since he was about seventeen years-old. 

“Poor guy. Have you taken anything? I can handle bath time and clean everything up, okay? I’ll get Nemo here in the tub and grab the medicine.” 

“Can Marlin come?” Peter asks, wielding the fish and squealing as Tony picked him and tickled him. 

“Marlin can’t really swim, kiddo,” Tony tells him. “He’s gonna have to wait on land. Maybe we can leave Marlin with Daddy so he can keep an eye on him while you and I are upstairs?”

Peter contemplates this before holding his arms out to Steve, and Tony walks them over, crouching down. 

“Daddy,” Peter whispers. “Marlin’s gonna stay with you. He’s a dad, just like you!” Peter lays the little stuffed fish beside Steve, who smiles up at them, eyes tired and red.

“Thanks, Pete,” he murmurs. 

– 

When Tony comes back, Steve is asleep, snoring quietly on the couch from under the blanket Tony draped over him. He looks exhausted, like anyone would after a week alone with a recovering toddler, and Tony touches a finger to the dark circles under his husband’s closed eyes, letting him sleep. Peter’s in pajamas, the room around them is organized, and, to no one’s surprise, their son requests that they put _Finding Dory_ on. Steve might have slept right through the night if Tony hadn’t laid a gentle hand to his forehead, checking to make sure he didn’t have a fever.

“I’m up!” Steve declares, sitting up and looking around, wide-eyed. “What happened?”

“It’s just me, you can go back to sleep.” Tony runs a hand through Steve’s hair, pushing it back and off his forehead. “We’re just watching a movie. You have one guess which one it is,” Tony says quietly. 

He relocates to Steve’s side, lifting the blanket up and settling himself in against him. Steve’s warm from sleep, though luckily he doesn’t seem to have a fever, and, god, Tony had _missed_ this while he was away. He knows he’s running the risk of getting sick himself, but has no plans to leave this spot. Steve leans into him, pressing his face into the crook of Tony’s neck and smiling. 

“Mm, missed you,” he says. “Turns out, doing this parenting thing alone is hard. Hazardous to one’s health, even.” Steve still sounds tired and congested, but the medicine Tony gave him does seem to have helped, and he kisses Steve’s temple in agreement. 

“The good news is, we don’t have to.”

Peter chooses then to look away from his fishy friends and over at his parents, snuggled up together on the sofa. He’s still too young to be embarrassed by parental affection, loves it, in fact. He’s a tactile kid who is _just_ like Tony in a lot of ways, but especially in how he shows affection. He’s always the instigator for “sleepovers in the big bed” and group hugs before he goes to daycare in the morning, dragging them along, one hand in Steve’s and one in Tony’s, to school. Peter pouts over at them for leaving him out before leaping to his feet. 

“Wait for me, wait for me!” He sprints the short distance across the room and nestles himself in between Steve and Tony, burrowing into the blankets. 

“Comfy?” Tony asks after a few minutes, overwhelmed by how thankful he is to be home with his family, tucked up under blankets, Steve recuperating and Peter happily making his stuffed Marlin swim along with the movie. 

He smiles when Steve and Peter answer in unison, a resounding _yes. _


	32. Sunflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love how fluffy and cute you write Steve/Tony! I was just watering my sunflowers and had this thought of Steve giving Tony a bouquet of sunflowers/roses because they remind him of the iron man colors and they’re both so vibrant like Tony! Could you write something around that? :)

Steve visits Tony in the med bay, heart in his throat. He hates seeing him here like this, looking so small and helpless; this isn’t the Tony Stark he knows and loves. Not that… Steve didn’t _love_ Tony. They were friends, and he liked him a normal, friendly amount. He would hate to see _any_ of the Avengers hurt.

“Would you stop skulking around like that and go in and see him already, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice interrupts him. 

“I-I’m not _skulking_, Buck, I was _thinking_,” Steve argues, though he knows he’s blushing, all the way down to his neck, at getting caught. 

“Sure, and those flowers are for me,” Bucky rolls his eyes, gesturing at the large bouquet clutched in Steve’s hand. “Go on, he’s awake now. He asked after you,” Bucky tells him with a knowing look. “Half unconscious and the first person he wants is you. That tell you anything?” 

Steve nods, looking down at the flowers and then Bucky. “What if he…” 

“Then I have a weapon for an arm and I’ll have to kill him.” 

“I know you’re kidding, but you probably shouldn’t joke about murder in a hospital,” Steve frowns. 

Bucky just points to Tony’s room and stares at him until, eventually, Steve walks away. 

Tony’s face lights up when he sees Steve standing in his doorway, tired eyes going soft and familiar, and okay, even Steve can admit that Tony doesn’t look at most people this way.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, tentatively, hovering next to Tony’s bed. 

“Eh, I’ve lived through worse,” Tony tells him, tapping lightly on the arc reactor. His eyes meet Steve’s for the briefest moment before dropping to the flowers. “So, are those for me?” 

Steve’s blush returns as he nods. “Oh, these, yeah. I mean, that’s what people do, right? Get well soon flowers? They reminded me of you, the colors of the suit. Plus, sunflowers are bright and friendly, they’ll brighten this place right up,” Steve says. “And the roses are… well, they’re vibrant. Like you.”

Tony stares at them for a moment longer, before looking up and smiling at Steve. “They’re beautiful, thank you, Steve, I love them,” he says, and Steve can’t help but think that despite the many other bouquets and cards and stuffed Iron Men around the room, Tony sounds sincere, grateful. Steve sets them down carefully on the table closest to Tony’s bed. 

“Will you stay a while?” Tony asks, looking suddenly nervous that Steve was only there to dutifully deliver the flowers before leaving again. 

Steve smiles, pulling a chair over to the side of the bed. “Of course. Who knows what kind of stunts you might try to pull in here if I leave you alone.”

Tony laughs, launching into a story about the nurse he has bringing him contraband Starbucks, slipping his hand into Steve’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 


	33. Ears and All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: Steve/Tony leaving Peter behind for a vacation for the first time? Like they go on a getaway and it’s supposed to be super romantic but they’re also dealing with missing him?

They flop onto the plush hotel bed, Steve first, followed by Tony, who drops himself gracelessly on top of him. Tony buries his face in Steve’s neck and sighs, content; he’s laying on top of his husband, they’re fully clothed and he’s completely happy. Tony Stark of fifteen years ago would never have believed this. Tony Stark of today, though, just traveled for nearly twenty-four straight hours, and wants nothing more than said plush bed and to be wrapped around Steve, even though they’re both rumpled and sleep deprived and probably smell like cabin plane.

They haven’t been on vacation alone in four years, not since adopting Peter. There’ve been trips down the shore, and to Sesame Place, even Disney World a few times, all of them adding adorable moments to their minds and Instagrams, none particularly relaxing or romantic. They typically came back to the city in need of a vacation from their vacation. Bora Bora had been Tony’s idea, the perfect thing to celebrate both Steve’s birthday and their upcoming anniversary. Bucky and Sam had custody of Peter for the next week, god help them all, and they were already feeling the absence of his constant chatter and curious questions.

“I thought traveling would be easier without a toddler, but I’m just as exhausted,” Steve says with a groan, rolling onto his back.

Tony sighs. “Tell me about it. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it off this bed for at least a day. Maybe a shower and room service, and we can do the beach tomorrow? The cabana is ours for the week, so…” He pauses and looks at Steve. “Are we _old?_”

Steve laughs, rolling over and brushing a kiss to Tony’s lips. “I think we’re just…parents.”

Tony hums his agreement, digging his phone from his pocket to check in with Sam, let them know they’d arrived safely. Tony’s phone lights up, revealing a photo of the three of them on their most recent trip to Disney, and he can’t help but smile. Peter’s grinning at the camera in Mickey ears, Steve’s in a Goofy hat, and Tony has on a huge Captain Hook hat. He stares at his lock screen until the phone goes dark again, realizing with a pang that despite the gorgeous, beach-side hotel, the bottle of champagne, and tray of decadent chocolate covered strawberries, he kind of wishes he was in line for The Enchanted Tiki Room, Peter on Steve’s shoulders, pointing out his favorite characters while they waited.

Steve nudges Tony with his foot when he sees the conflicted expression on his face.

“Did we do the wrong thing, coming here alone?” Tony asks him, clicking his phone and showing Steve the photo. He smiles fondly at the memory but shakes his head.

“I miss him too, but I think it was the right move. He’s getting older, and he _loves_ going to Sam and Bucky’s. They let him stay up way too late thinking we don’t know about it, and he can play with Gadget all week. He’ll come home begging for a puppy, but…”

“You’re right, you’re right, it’s just weird, isn’t it?” Tony asks, still staring at his phone.

“Very weird,” Steve agrees. “I feel like I should be eating cotton candy and wiping sticky hands right now. Maybe we should call and check in, just to say hi. Then we can start relaxing,” Steve suggests, and Tony’s face brightens almost immediately.

“You read my mind.”

They call Sam and try not to be delighted when Peter’s voice is the first one they hear.

“Do you miss me already?!” Their son shouts into the phone. They turn and smile at each other, parents through and through. “Uncle Bucky told me you’d call and have an ideminity c-crisis,” Peter stumbles over the big words and Tony and Steve can hear laughter in the background.

“Did he now? Well, Uncle Bucky’s not getting the fancy coffee I promised him, then. How are you, Petey, having fun? Do you miss us yet? We’ll be be back soon,” Tony adds at the last second, though it’s to console himself as much as their son.

“I miss you but Gadget’s here! And we’re going to the movies later! And… oh, Uncle Sam wants his phone back now. Bye Daddy!”

Tony and Steve call out their goodbyes and I love yous before Sam takes over.

“Would you two just go relax? You’re on vacation, we’re on rugrat duty. When did Tony Stark get so boring? Father Time rubbing off on you?” Sam needles them until they get off the phone, smiling sheepishly at each other.

“Y’know, maybe we are boring, but I think I’m okay with it,” Steve says with a smile, pulling Tony in against him for a kiss.

They find more than one way to distract themselves for the rest of the evening.

By the time they get home, though, sun kissed and refreshed, they’ve already booked a family trip to Disney World, ears and all.


	34. The Art Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could you do superfamily? Peter has a big art project due and asks Steve for help and tony proudly watching? If you have time.

Peter had no problem asking Tony for help with school work, or crashing into the lab at any hour to see what Tony was working on, or just bounce ideas around. And it’s not like Steve isn’t _nice_, Peter knows he’s nice, and Tony was _marrying_ him in the fall, which was more than enough proof that Steve was a great guy, and the perfect team leader. But this…

Peter paces outside the kitchen where Steve is sitting with a book and a cup of coffee. It’s the perfect time to ask for help, all he has to do is ask. He looks like a moron out here, he knows this, yet Peter still can’t make himself go in. Maybe he could ask Tony instead. But physics and science are one thing, art is really more Steve’s area.

At the sound of Steve clearing his throat, Peter jumps almost a foot and lets out a little gasp that gives him away. Steve looks over at him, a smile breaking out over his face.

“Hey, Peter, how are you?” Steve gives him a little wave and gestures to the seat across from him. “You don’t drink coffee, do you?”

Peter shuffles into the kitchen; _should he say yes to coffee?_

“Uh, a Frappuccino sometimes, but that’s really more milkshake than actual coffee and according to Aunt May, with the whole Peter Tingle thing, I don’t need any ‘excess stimulation.’ Her words,” Peter adds, realizing he probably sounds crazy, and things like _tingle_ and _stimulation_ don’t sound great in casual coffee conversation.

Steve laughs and nearly chokes on his coffee. Smooth, Parker. “Peter _tingle?_” He asks.

“Oh the Spidey sense thing? She calls it— you know what, never mind,” Peter grimaces and fidgets in his seat.

“Are you alright? You look nervous.” Well, Steve didn’t get this far being oblivious.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something?”

“Was that it?” Steve quirks a smile after the very Tony-esque quip, and Peter relaxes a little.

“Uh, no, I have this art project? And I’m so bad when it comes to that stuff, MJ thinks it’s hilarious but it’s half my grade so I really need to do well and you’re an artist kinda, and I wanted to see if you could help me? I know you’re busy so it’s no problem at all if you say no…”

Steve’s face softens and his eyes go from curious to understanding to something Peter can’t quite name.

“Of course I can help you. I might be a little rusty, and I have no idea what an art class entails these days, but some things are like riding a bike, so we should be fine.” Steve gives him a confident smile and Peter gives an audible sigh of relief, earning him another laugh.

“You really are just like Tony you know. Brilliant, and _terrible_ at asking for help.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but he’s quietly pleased at Steve’s words. He explains the premise of the project, which Ms. Johnson had dramatically named Illustrate Your Passion, and they get to work, nixing at least ten themes before landing on the most obvious one: The Avengers.

Steve suggests a comic book style, and begins sketching out a rough storyboard for them, while Peter jots down some dialogue ideas. They were so involved in the project, bringing it to life between them on the tablet Tony had surprised Steve with, that neither heard Tony come up behind them.

When Steve spots him, leaning with his shoulder against the doorway, the _hey, sweetheart,_ that leaves his mouth is so syrupy sweet Peter has to look away, immediately feeling like he was imposing on something private. Though, that’s how Steve and Tony _always_ are. Like the embarrassing parents who held hands at school events and still liked each other. It was adorably nauseating.

When Peter looks back up, Tony is watching them, a warm, proud smile over his face as he looked on. It was the kind of face he made when Peter had a particularly good idea in the workshop, or performed well in training, plus something… more.

“Hi, Mr. Stark! Sorry I stole Captain Rogers this afternoon. I have this monster art project and he’s so good at this, look what we have so far…” Peter’s already holding the tablet out and using his foot to push out the third chair for Tony to join them.

There’s no mistaking the joy on his face as sits between them, though, Peter talking a mile a minute, Steve’s face scrunched in concentration. Tony looks between them, his little pseudo family doing homework around the kitchen table, and something in him thrums, content.

“What are you making that face for, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks after Tony goes quiet for too long. He doesn’t miss the tiny smile Steve and Tony exchange, either.

“Nothing, just listening. Keep going kid, this looks great.” Tony says. From where he was sitting, everything looked perfect.


	35. Who Wears the Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh number 14. Tony says, I think you forgot who wears the pants in this relationship. And Steve starts to wear skirts

Steve Rogers was nothing if not stubborn. Tony knows this because in that way, they’re almost too similar. So really, he should’ve known better than to say it, but Steve was insisting on paying for dinner, immediately pressing his card into the waiter’s hand before Tony could so much as reach for his wallet.

“Just because you _can_ pay doesn’t mean you always _should_,” Steve tells him with the megawatt smile that makes men and women faint, the one that gets him out of _everything_. He’d probably planned this from the moment they sat down, and honestly, Tony has to admire the forethought.

“Fine, Steven, if you insist, but only because you’re cute and I know you’ll fight me on this forever. But I think you forgot who wears the pants in this relationship.” Tony winks at him and they laugh on their way out the door, and that’s that.

Until the next time Tony meets Steve for dinner, and he comes downstairs wearing an honest to god _skirt_. Tony stares at him, because of course it looks that good on him, why wouldn’t it. Star Spangled Man With Legs For Days.

Tony continues to gape at his boyfriend, finally summoning the words to ask what the occasion was.

Steve looks down, as if he’s just remembered the skirt was there at all.

“Oh, this? Carol let me borrow it. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten who wears the pants this time.” A broad smile is all Steve offers before hustling them out the door and into the car.

Tony grins and follows him. “Well played, Mr. Rogers.”


	36. Kiss Me In the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #57- “We could get struck by lightning, but you want to kiss in the rain” for the drabble challenge please :) Steve/Tony

Steve and Tony had just settled in with Peter for fireworks in the park when thunder rumbled through the sky. It’d been scorchingly hot all afternoon, enough to warrant the thunderstorm, but everyone had quietly ignored it, hoping it would hold out long enough that their Fourth of July festivities could continue, uninterrupted.

Tony had rolled out a huge Captain America blanket for the occasion, in case anyone around them managed to forget that it was Steve’s birthday, too. He shoots his husband a wounded look at the sound of thunder, sure this meant their plans for the evening are ruined.

Peter lets out a little yelp at the sound, scrambling into Tony’s lap. He runs a soothing hand through their son’s hair as Steve stands up, brushing himself off and holding out a hand to Tony, helping him up.

“Fireworks?” Peter asks, looking between them.

“Sorry Pete, I think we have to go home, it’s—“ Steve gets cut off by another loud crack of thunder, the skies opening up this time.

Steve doesn’t let go of Tony’s hand as they head for the car, lightning rather than fireworks lighting up the sky. Peter laughs as the rain pours down around them, running ahead of his parents and leaping into rapidly forming puddles, cackling as he splashed.

Tony looks between his son and his husband and stops, pulling Steve in for a kiss right there in the middle of the flood of people and rain, more public than he’d ever usually go for. He deepens it, just a little, before Steve pulls away, laughing.

“We could get struck by lightning, but you want to kiss in the rain,” Steve says, smiling.

Tony leans in for another peck on the lips, short and sweet this time. “I did promise you fireworks,” he winks.


	37. Are You High?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irondad/ "Are You High?"

“Is it me or were planes louder when you were little?” Is the first thing Tony hears when he picks up Peter’s call.

“Is _what?”_ Tony asks, eyebrows knitting together. He picks up his coffee mug; it was definitely too early for wherever this conversation is heading.

“Planes, Mr. Stark. I was just swinging through the city, chasing this pigeon because—“

“Chasing a _pigeon?”_ Tony can’t keep the disbelief from his voice. Way too early for this conversation, then. “Let me just stop you for a sec, webhead. Are you high?”

“Uh, a few thousand feet, maybe? Like I was saying, I was chasing this pigeon and—“ Peter babbles on.

“High like drugs, kid, but you know what, just… why a pigeon?” Tony takes another long sip of his coffee as Peter gets going again.

“I mean, I don’t normally chase them, don’t worry, but there was this little kid, and he had this Spidey shirt on and he was crying because a pigeon knocked his bagel out of his hand. And here I come, taking a webby shortcut, just trying to get to homeroom on time, and he sees me and he was so happy Mr. Stark, I told him I would try. You know what I mean? I couldn’t actually _chase the pigeon_ but he thought I could and that helped him enough, so…” Peter trails off and Tony can just see the little shrug he gives.

Tony smiles into the phone. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He thinks of the thousands of kids who’ve run over to him, thrilled, their parents apologizing for selfies and long-winded stories, like it didn’t make Tony’s day as much as theirs. He definitely knew the feeling.

“_Anyway_,” Peter continues. “While I was up here, I heard a plane, and it was so loud up there so close, and I swear when I was a kid they used to be louder.”

Tony chooses not to comment on the _when I was a kid_ thing, but he does know what Peter means. When you’re a kid, everything is huge; a fallen bagel is a tragedy and planes are a mystery you’re hyper aware of. Sure, Peter and Tony and probably notice them less. Spider-Man and Iron Man fly all the time, they’re bound to drown out the noise. Adults too, they’ve been in those planes, they hardly notice the magic of them anymore.

Tony thinks for a minute about how huge and magical everything seems when you’re little, like that kid with the bagel and even Peter, to an extent, and only pauses once to mentally call himself a sap. Tony Stark, turned reflective and nostalgic thanks to Peter Parker and a pigeon.

He does make a point to notice the planes when he and Steve go out on their run later, though. The planes and the kids and the city they take for granted. He must be making a face, because Steve asks what he’s thinking about, and his face softens when Tony says _flying_.


	38. National Ice Cream Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony introduce Peter to their favorite tradition: Anniversary Ice Cream on July 21st.

“Daddy! Can we go now?” Peter comes running into the room and looks between Steve and Tony, an impatience on his face that was all Tony. **  
**

“We’ve created a monster,” Steve laughs, lifting Peter into his arms. 

Their son turns to him, much too indignant for four years old. “I’m _not_ a monster! I’m Peter!”

“You are Peter,” Steve reasons. “It’s just a saying, like, making something big out of something small,” he explains. 

Peter nods, like this makes all the sense in the world to him, and searches Steve’s face. “So we can get ice cream now?”

“We can,” Tony interjects. “Anniversary ice cream,” he says, kissing Steve with a smile. 

Anniversary ice cream started years ago, long before Peter, before they were even married, and had morphed into a long-standing tradition that neither would break. They included their son in the celebration now, and even when they were busy, or away, they always managed to acknowledge the day. Technically, their wedding anniversary should have usurped their first date, but every July twenty-first, like clockwork, they cracked open a carton, or took a trip to a local ice cream shop. If they had a lot of time and patience, they might even take a road trip back to the place that started it all. 

Their first date had been at Pop’s Ice Cream Shoppe, an old-fashioned ice cream parlor that Tony found online, thinking Steve might like it. It was spelled with an ‘E’ at the end of ‘Shoppe’ and everything. Steve _had_ loved it, all those years ago. Had loved Tony long before that first date, and the shared strawberry milkshake had only sweetened the deal. 

Today though, they were just going down the street, walking hand in hand in the fading summer heat to their favorite ice cream stand. The whole thing is almost _too_ perfect, Peter sitting on Steve’s shoulders as they walked, pointing out every dog they passed and calling out questions to the owners. He seemed to be taking a poll on everyone’s favorite ice cream flavor, making human and canine friends with every block. Peter liked to get what he called a Sour Patch Sundae, which is exactly as sugary and revolting as it sounded, guaranteeing a late bedtime in their future. 

Steve surprises Tony when he orders a banana split rather than his usual milkshake or strawberry cone. 

“What? Peter’s getting a sundae!” He defends as they sit down.

“Always keeping me on my toes, Mr. Rogers-Stark,” Tony says, swiping a spoonful of whipped cream from Steve’s sundae. 

“That’s why you keep me around, someone’s got to.” Steve lets Tony feed him a spoonful of his chocolate custard and smiles over at his husband. 

“Hey! Anyone wanna try mine?” Peter nearly shouts, ice cream smeared around his mouth. 

Tony grins at him, attempting to wipe some of it away and failing. “Daddy was just saying how good that looks,” he tells Peter, pointing his spoon at Steve. He gets a grimace in return, but Peter is too busy holding a dripping, rainbow spoonful out to Steve to notice. 

“Good?” Peter asks brightly. 

“So good! I’ll leave the rest for you, though,” Steve tells him, shooting Tony a pointed look. 

Tony just laughs, holding up his spoon in a mock toast. “To anniversary ice cream,” he says. He leans over for a kiss, cold and chocolatey. 

Ten years since their first date, seven since they’ve been married, four since Peter came into their lives. Their ice cream dates might have changed through the years, but they were just as sweet.


	39. Excuse Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #81 Excuse me for falling in love with you (Bucky/Tony) :))

“You’re taking up the whole bed,” Tony says from the doorway of their hotel bathroom. He’s toweling off his hair and smiling over at Bucky, currently starfished across the king-sized bed. Tony’s exhausted from a day of travel, shower warm and sleepy and he can’t stop the fond smile as he crosses the room to his boyfriend.

Bucky rolls over, not taking up any less space than before, and peers innocently over at Tony. “You can fit, you’re pretty compact,” he grins.

“You calling me short again, Freezepop? We talked about this.” Tony gives him a pout and fits himself onto the bed. He lifts Bucky’s metal arm and settles himself beneath it, Bucky instinctively curling in closer, threading their legs together.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky says into Tony’s hair.

“Hmm,” Tony murmurs dubiously. “I don’t know if I can trust a man who doesn’t leave me room on the bed.”

“Oh, I’m very untrustworthy, doll. This whole thing was part of my grand plan to get you to do exactly this,” Bucky tells him in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Smush myself into you?” Tony asks.

“Well that, and sleep. I’m not complaining either way.”

“I knew it, you’re a mastermind,” Tony tells him, his eyes already feeling heavy at the way Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “Can’t be trusted.”

Bucky presses a kiss to lips and laughs a little.

“Excuse me for falling in love with you,” he says into Tony’s lips. “Knowing when you need a break…”

“Hm, that I won’t complain about.” Tony says agreeably, letting his eyes close and his breathing even out as Bucky continues running a gentle hand through his hair; he’s asleep in no time at all.


	40. Freckled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has freckles after being in the sun for too long (maybe beach holiday?) . Tony is delighted to discover them all (and outraged that Steve kept it from him).

Steve stands up, shakes the sand from his legs and bathing suit and looks at Tony, happy as a clam when he’s basking in the sun.

“What do you say, had enough? I could use more water. And maybe a snack. And definitely a shower…” Steve says, nudging his husband with his foot with every request.

Tony grumbles and lifts his sunglasses, squinting up at Steve.

“For a centenarian, you sound an awful lot like a toddler,” Tony teases him, standing up and folding their beach blanket.

They’re only staying a block from the beach, so they didn’t bring much with them, towels and a book each, and Steve is _starving_. There’s also sand… in a lot of places you don’t normally want it.

“Feed me,” Steve says, taking Tony’s hand in his.

They walk back, sticky and tired from the sun and the sand, and when they get back, Steve smiles when he asks Tony if he wants to get in the shower first. He gets the same answer every time.

“Why would I, when doing it together saves water _and_ time?” He grabs Steve by the hand and leads them into the bathroom, turning the water on high and hot.

“Wait. What’s this?” Tony’s running shampoo through Steve’s hair with wet, careful hands when he sees the spots on his shoulders. “You have freckles?”

“Oh, from the sun, yeah, they come out in the summer,” Steve shrugs.

“They come out… _every_ summer? But I’ve never seen them!”

Steve laughs as Tony turns and studies his face. “They’re _everywhere!_” Tony exclaims, delight clear on his face. He runs a fingertip over the planes of Steve’s face, flicking away the water. “You look this cute after the sun and kept it from me?!” Tony is indignant.

Steve shrugs again, laughing as Tony kisses his cheeks.

When they flop onto the bed after their shower, tired in a way unique to a day at the beach, Tony’s hands dance over his face again, tracing the freckles from the tip of Steve’s right ear, (of course Tony found that one), across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

“Satisfied?” Steve asks, amused.

“No.” More kisses, focused on his nose, the smattering of delicate freckles there making him look somehow even more perfect. “I’m on a mission, Steve. As revenge for keeping your freckles from me, I will have to find and kiss every one of them.” Tony proceeds, rolling over to reach one he’d missed on Steve’s arm.

“Who’s the toddler now?” Steve asks, though of course, it’s not like he actually _minds_.


	41. You're Never This Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s their anniversary and Steve is having a lot of feelings.

**“**Okay, you’re _never_ this quiet,” Tony says, leaning over the table and covering Steve’s hand with his. “What’s wrong, soldier?” He runs a thumb over Steve’s palm, watches it relax him, just a bit. 

Steve blinks a few times, almost like he was so lost in thought he’d forgotten Tony was sitting across from him. Tony can see the warring emotions in Steve’s eyes, wants to kiss them away. For the first time, Tony doesn’t assume that he’s done something wrong, that their relationship was about to dissolve before his eyes. He doesn’t ignore the problem and hide out in his lab, waiting for Steve to catch on and carry him out to face his demons head on. 

For the first time, Tony recognizes that something’s off, and he wants to see it through with Steve, together. _Who’d have thought. _

“You can tell me anything, you know,” Tony says gently. “I can take it.”

“I know. That’s kind of it, actually,” Steve says slowly, a smile unfolding slowly across his face. “I never thought… I mean. I never should’ve been here, you know? The odds of us meeting, are… god, numbers are more your thing, but, not high. And I think about it sometimes and I just…” Tony’s pretty sure Steve’s eyes are getting misty, and that did _not_ bode well for Tony, who was a bundle of thinly-veiled feelings on the best of days. 

“I know,” Tony says, relief flooding him. His voice goes tight and quiet. “I love you.”

Steve gives him a grateful look. Talking about his feelings was still new for him, and putting into words how he felt about Tony Stark always felt like a work in progress. He squeezes Tony’s hand. 

“I love you, too. Happy anniversary, Tony,” he says instead, letting a content silence settle over them, saying everything he couldn’t.


	42. Are you really taking his side right now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superfamily/"are you really taking his side right now?"

“Can I sleep in the big bed tonight?” Peter asks, rubbing his eyes with a pair of tiny fists. 

They’re sitting in his room after being conned into three bedtime stories, and Tony is exhausted after hours of board meetings followed by a schmoozy dinner trying to impress people he didn’t care about. He’d never been so excited to come home and relax with Steve and Peter. 

Tony pauses, looking from Steve to Peter. “What about your race car bed? Remember we said if we got that, you’d sleep in your own bed more?” He gives Peter a soft, encouraging look. 

“Yes,” Peter says. “But you were gone all _day_ today. I missed you.” 

The look he gives Tony could melt even the coldest of hearts, and Tony already finds it nearly impossible to tell him no. But he was so tired, and he hadn’t had a night alone with Steve in almost a week, and they had _plans_. Plans that definitely would not come to fruition with a tiny little body and three stuffed animals at a minimum in bed between them. 

Tony tries his best to stand firm in the face of Peter’s smile and huge, glistening eyes, though he can feel his determination wavering as Peter’s bottom lip trembles ever so slightly.

“Pleeease, just one more night, Daddy?” he asks, looking from Tony to Steve. “What if Steve says I can?”

“What’s one more night?” Steve asks Tony, and his jaw falls open. Steve spent the whole day working from home so he could be with Peter, and clearly, even after more than a year, was no more immune to his charms than Tony. 

“Are you really taking his side right now?” Tony tries to sound incredulous, but really, he’s relieved. How he got lucky enough to not only find someone as gorgeous and sweet as Steve, but someone who loved Peter nearly as much as he did, Tony will never know. 

“Oh, I mean, if Daddy says so?” Steve backpedals with a sheepish smile in Tony’s direction. 

Peter is already beaming though, sensing that his battle had been won and scrambling to collect the animals that would be joining them in the other room. 

“One more night might be nice,” Tony agrees. 

“Sleepover in the big bed!” Petter shouts, sounding way too wide awake for someone about to do anything resembling sleep. 

“Sleepover in the big bed,” Tony repeats with a smile. He leans over, pulling Steve in for a kiss in their valuable minute of alone time. “Pushover,” he says into Steve’s lips. 

“I learned from the best,” Steve says, helping Tony to his feet in pursuit of Peter. 


	43. The Lion King Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superfamily prompt were one of them does the lion king thing with baby peter.

Tony rolls over in bed at the sound of the baby monitor on their bedside table, pulling his pillow over his head in an attempt to escape the sound. Right now, Peter was only making bubbly, happy sounds, but Tony already knows all too well that soon enough, that would lead to screaming for Tony and Steve to pick him up and out of his crib. ****

Steve rolls toward him in bed, kissing his way across Tony’s bare collarbone and smiling into it. 

“Guess what?” He asks. 

“Mmm, what?” Tony asks, soaking in the attention. With a one year old new to their home, alone time had been hard to come by, and even when they had it, they typically ended up collapsing on top of each other, completely exhausted. 

“It’s _your_ turn,” Steve says with a sly smile. He’s laughing when he rolls onto his pillow and closes his eyes, while Tony splutters beside him. 

“It is not, I woke up last! It’s your turn, definitely,” Tony says, adamant now. 

“Oh no sir, I know you think you’re being slick, but don’t think I haven’t noticed that you always manage to weasel out of diaper duty,” Steve says, propping himself up on an elbow, probably to give himself the best view of Tony’s reaction. 

“I—” Tony starts, just as Peter’s cries sound through the baby monitor. It was like clockwork, a perfectly laid plan. 

Tony gapes at Steve. “You set me up. You took that last feeding because you _knew_ it would leave me with the dirty diaper? Steve Rogers, using that master tactician brain of yours to your advantage like this, with our child, no less?” Tony pretends to be appalled. “It’s playing dirty.”

“Hey, it’s not playing dirty; fair is fair. That diaper, however,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “I can’t speak for that.” Another smirk, and Steve rolls over, muffling his laughter into the pillow. 

Tony grumbles, but Steve is right, he _does_ always find an excuse to run from dirty diapers. The idea of it… he shudders. He knows it’s part of the whole parenting gig, but he didn’t have to like it. And he really had thought Steve wouldn’t catch on so quickly. 

He pads down the hall and into Peter’s nursery, decked out in jungle decor. There was a hand-painted mural on the wall and everything, thanks to Steve, with lions and tigers and giraffes, that Peter loved. They’d prepped the room for months, and Tony loved coming in here, watching Peter’s eyes light up when he caught sight of something new. 

“Morning, squirt,” Tony says, smiling when Peter stands and holds his arms out to him. 

“Dada!” Peter squeals into his shoulder when Tony picks him up. The word makes Tony’s insides go to mush, just like it did every time. 

“That’s right, Dada, that’s me.” Tony boops Peter’s nose and carries him to the changing table, ready to do battle. He grabs wipes, and a clean diaper, and cream, and a onesie, and wonders how someone so small requires so much _stuff._

Overall, it’s not _that_ bad. Tony used enough wipes for at least three babies, he knows this, but he considers it a necessary trade-off. He sprinkles on some baby powder, and is getting the new diaper situated when he sees Steve poke his head in. 

“I see you’ve survived thus far,” he says with a smile. 

Tony pokes Peter’s belly, earning a laugh and a gummy smile. He hoists Peter up, shirtless and wriggling, into the air and over his head for Steve to see. 

“This baby cub has been changed, cleaned, and cared for,” Tony says dramatically. “Ready for breakfast.”

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart. And, this means you can do it more often, now that you’ve practiced, Mufasa.” Steve smiles, coming into the room and taking Peter into his own arms. 

“Wait, wait, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Discuss this over breakfast when I’ve been properly caffeinated…” Tony babbles as he follows his family down to the kitchen. 

He pretends not to notice Steve humming the opening bars of the _Lion King_ as they go. 


	44. Is It Me Or Is It Freezing in Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is cold and he just wants Steve to help him out, okay? It’s not that much to ask, except he can’t actually … ask

In the beginning, Tony did a lot of observing. Steve; Nat (when she let it happen); Thor and Bruce. Even Clint. He learned that Natasha liked strawberries in her cereal, that Bruce preferred veggie pizza to Thor’s meat lover’s. He knows that Steve will make everyone pancakes when he prefers french toast, and always, always saved the last cup of coffee for Tony, who was usually the last to join them in the morning. But eventually, most of those things, tiny details and the people they came with, became a kind of background noise.

Except… Tony couldn’t help but continue to notice everything about Steve, and all the little selfless things he would do for the rest of them, for Tony most of all. Which is why, one night when they were watching movies together, Tony notices the wistful expression that dances across Steve’s face when Bruce looks over at Thor, and murmurs an innocuous question.

“It’s cold in here, isn’t it?” And Thor just smiles at him indulgently, pulling Bruce in closer to his side. It was sweet, and that one question was all it took for Bruce to be tucked snugly into Thor’s side, the picture of the perfect couple. Tony _also_ didn’t miss the quiet, doleful little sigh that came from across the couch when Steve looked away, apparently much more interested in the floor than their teammates’ relationship or the movie playing in front of them. Tony’s arms twitch with the desire to reach across the expanse of his plush couch, and touch him.

The next time they all get together, Tony takes the liberty of lowering the temperature in the tower, just a few degrees, but in the crisp fall weather, it’s enough. Bruce is wearing a cardigan, and he’s already sitting with Thor, nearly in his lap this time. Tony, on the other hand, has on a thin, well-worn band t-shirt, and he’s already chilly. He takes his seat on the couch, not sitting quite so far from Steve this time. 

The movie starts, and after a few minutes, Tony shivers, would swear he can _feel_ Steve’s eyes on him. Steve with his giant arms and his soft, tentative smiles and his warmth to spare. Tony opens his mouth to comment on the temperature, to finish out his own stupid, juvenile plan, but the words turn to dust in his throat. He pulls his knees up to his chest and can’t contain his sigh of defeat when Nat leans over and steals the jacket Clint had thrown over the arm of the chair. Tony’s too caught up in feeling sorry for himself to see Steve watching the exchange thoughtfully, too. 

Tony looks up when he feels a nudge, Steve’s foot on his knee. 

“There’s a blanket, if you’re cold,” Steve tells him quietly, motioning to the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it down and shakes it out, covering both of them just a little. They’re not close enough for it to do very much, and it’s not exactly what he had in mind, but Tony smiles over at Steve anyway, nodding his thanks. 

Maybe hope was not quite lost.

A few weeks pass, and Steve and Tony hang out. They strategize, and spar, and Tony watches the contemplative expression that cross Steve’s face when he draws for hours in the kitchen or the lab, wherever they happen to be. Movie nights keep getting pushed back. Until they’re all home one rainy Friday night, and it’s time. Tony removes the throw blankets, he takes another few degrees off the thermostat, and he settles in, heart in his mouth as he closes a few more inches between him and Steve on what has become Their Couch. 

Again, everyone curls in close together, bundling up while the rain hurls itself at the windows and the wind literally howls. Tony wears long sleeves this time, but it still leaves a lot to be desired, warmth wise. Then Steve comes striding in, wearing a sweater that looks both insanely warm, and like it had been plucked directly from a kind grandfather’s basement. Tony aches to feel its softness on his skin, but his heart sinks when Steve tucks himself into the furthest corner of the couch, and meets Tony’s eye with a smile. 

He thinks vaguely about simply getting up and leaving, but he knows it would look like he was pouting. Then Steve opens his mouth and shocks Tony into silence. 

“Is it me, or is it cold as hell in here?” Steve says, looking only at Tony, who stares at him, stunned. 

Clint and Thor shout something about Steve’s scandalous choice of words, but all Tony can focus on is the knowing look in Steve’s eyes, and the arm he holds out to Tony. He wastes no time closing the gap between them once and for all, bringing his head to rest against the cable knit sweater that is, up close, as impossibly soft and deliciously warm as it looked. His cheeks heat up as Steve’s arms envelope him, and he feels more than hears Steve’s low rumbling laugh. 

“You know,” Steve murmurs, “you could have _asked_.” His smile tells another story, though, and Tony just shrugs, too surprised at the realization that after all this time, Steve had been paying attention, too. 


	45. Be Brave, Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has pre-wedding jitters.

Tony takes a deep breath, stares at his reflection in the mirror, and fidgets with his tie for the millionth time. He already knows it’s tied perfectly. His tux is pressed, his shoes are gleaming, _everything_ is ready. In twenty minutes, Rhodey was going to stand by Tony’s side as he married the love of his life. 

So why did his legs feel like jello? How come he could feel sweat pricking at the back of his neck, his whole body thrumming with nerves?

A creak in the door makes Tony jump and then turn, and he feels himself going even more tense.

“Steve! You’re not supposed to be here! We’re not supposed to see each other before the ceremony, it’s bad luck!” Tony hisses, though the fact that he grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him further into the room probably negates this argument. 

Steve just shrugs and smiles, ducking his head a little in a way that was so _Steve_, that it’s like everything that was buzzing inside Tony relaxes and quiets at once. 

“I thought that was just a bride thing. I’m not a bride, are you a bride?” Steve teases Tony. 

“Well, no, but I don’t want any bad luck today, okay? Not today. It’s too important,” Tony says seriously. 

Steve takes Tony’s hands in his, lifts them one by one to his lips and kisses them softly. “I know, of course it’s important. That’s why I had to come check on you. I was afraid you might be in here talking yourself out of this, climbing out a window or something.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Tony says, though of course Steve knows. “I _want_ to marry you, Steven Grant Rogers. I just don’t want to ruin it, somehow. Maybe not today or tomorrow but that’s—it’s… My track record isn’t the best,” Tony sighs. 

“Hey, look at me,” Steve says, pausing until Tony meets his eye. “I asked you to marry me because I want to spend forever with you. _You_, Tony, all of you, track record and all,” Steve reminds him. “Besides, you won’t ruin anything. We’ve already been through more together than most couples face in a lifetime.”

Tony considers this, exhaling slowly. He knows Steve’s right, but everything was going so perfectly, he can’t help but be suspicious, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Steve brings a hand to Tony’s cheek. “Be brave, sweetheart,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Tony clasps their hands together and stares down at them, nodding once, firmly. 

“Ready to do this?” Steve asks with a smile. 

Tony nods again, squeezing his hand. “Ready.” 


	46. Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tried to warn Tony that Peter wasn’t old enough for Hocus Pocus, but when does Tony listen to him?

“Are we sure this is okay for him to watch?” Steve asks, gesturing to Peter, who was stretched out between them on the couch, his little socked feet in Tony’s lap. If the way he kept rubbing at his eyes was anything to go by, he’d be asleep in no time at all. But movie night was his favorite thing in the world, so they were letting him stay up a little past his bedtime. 

“I think so. I mean, it is a kids movie,” Tony says. The play screen for _Hocus Pocus_ played on the TV, waiting for them to start it. It was only early September, but with summer coming to a close and stores already decked out in all things Halloween, they were leaning into the approaching fall season. Plus, it was one of Tony’s favorites. 

“I guess you’re right,” Steve agrees hesitantly, hitting play and settling in, smiling when Peter and Tony tug themselves in closer at nearly the same time. 

The movie starts, and while Peter jumps or clutches onto Steve’s arm every now and then, he laughs more than anything, asking questions about witches and Halloween, and rattling off every costume idea he has for himself this year.

“Can I be you, Daddy?” Peter asks at one point, and Tony, assuming he means _him_ as in _Iron Man,_ smiles a little. 

“Sure, I might be able to make you a little Iron Kid suit,” he tells him. 

“No, Daddy, _you!_ Like how you wear a tie and stuff!” Peter chirps. 

Steve grins and meets his husband’s eyes, round with surprise and happiness. Steve watches as he falters for just a minute, sees the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows around a lump of emotion. 

“Sure, Pete, you’ll be the best dressed kid at the parade, how’s that?” 

Peter just smiles and nods enthusiastically, turning his attention back to the Halloween chaos on the screen. He hides his face when Billy Butcherson and his sewn up lips appears, and Steve shoots Tony a worried look. 

“Come on, he’s fine, see?” Tony says, motioning to Peter, who had apparently gone from closing his eyes in fear to simply conked out. 

By the time the movie ends and Tony starts to lift their son to carry him to bed, he stirs and his eyes blink open wide, terrified. 

“Daddy! No! _No!_” He starts crying, exhaustion and terror combining into a heartbreaking display of waterworks. 

“Shh, what’s wrong, did you have a bad dream?” Tony asks, carding a hand through his curly hair and shooting a worried glance at Steve, who rolls his eyes in a way that can only mean _I tried to tell you._

“Daddy the zombie man is coming!” Peter sobs. “He took you and you couldn’t talk and I couldn’t find you and I-I,” Peter breaks off with a hiccup and turns his worried eyes to Steve, holding out his arms.

“You’re okay, come here, we’re both right here, see? We can still talk. Daddy probably too much,” Steve winks. “Zombies aren’t real, I promise.” Steve hugs him tightly.

Tony looks distraught and mouths an apology to Steve. He taps Peter’s foot and meets his eye.

“Daddy’s right, they’re not real, it was just watching the movie so close to bedtime, that’s all,” Tony murmurs quietly. Peter grabs his arm and pulls, so that he’s sandwiched between his parents in a little group hug.

“Can I sleep with you? Just in case they come?” He asks, and his voice is so small and tired, it wasn’t like either of them could say _no_, certainly not Tony. 

“Sure, Petey, you can keep us safe,” Steve tells him. “You’re big and strong now, right?”

“Right!” Peter says, tucking his face into Steve’s shoulder and exhaling, a shuddery breath. 

“So, okay, maybe he wasn’t ready for that,” Tony says as they turn the lights off and pad down the hallway. 

“If this is your way of telling me I was right, I’m gonna need to bask in this moment for a long while,” Steve says with a smirk. 

“Hey, if you’re not careful, Billy Butcherson might come zip your lip,” Tony whispers, miming a needle and thread before turning and pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips, and another, careful one to Peter’s forehead. 


	47. Excuses, Excuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooh if you're still doing the number prompts how about 7. You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today. for a proposal AU? Either Steve or Tony keep getting nervous and make an excuse to leave and come back. Too bad the excuses are starting to overlap.

Tony’s mouth is moving but Steve can’t hear a word he’s saying over the blood rushing in his ears. His palms are slick with sweat again and he swallows around the nervous lump in his throat. 

He opens his mouth without thinking, cutting Tony off again in his haste. 

“Sorry, you know what, I’ll be right back. I just gotta… yeah,” Steve gestures vaguely over his shoulder, turns and scurries to the bathroom. He’d just gone fifteen minutes ago in a previous attempt at composing himself… And a few times before they left the house for their dinner reservation. But he’s nervous damnit. He only planned on proposing once in his life and he was determined to get it just right. 

Steve stares at himself in the mirror, breathing deeply. “You can do this, Rogers,” he says to no one. Which, great, he was going into married life talking to an empty men’s room. That is, if he ever got as far as married life, which he _wouldn’t_, if he didn’t get his act together and propose already. He splashes cold water on his face, washes his hands for the millionth time, and heads back out to the table. 

Tony glowers at Steve when he returns to his seat. “What is with you tonight? You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today,” he says. “You have better plans in there?” 

And Steve knows Tony means it as a joke, but he also knows Tony well enough to know that he was thinking of at least a dozen worst case scenarios in which Steve _did_ have better plans, or someone else, or… god only knows what that genius brain could dream up. 

Steve feels his face pale. “What! No! No, _no_, not at all. Not even close.” His hand fidgets in his pocket, feels the small velvet box, stuck to his already clammy hand. 

Tony stares at him, no doubt doing mental gymnastics to try and figure out why Steve was acting so strange and cagey on what should be a very nice night out.

“Okay,” Tony says evenly. “Then where do you keep going?”

It’s a fair question. 

“Okay, I can explain, and I think you’ll feel better once you hear what I have to say. I know _I_ will.” Steve tries to pull his hand from his pocket, but it’s tight, and the ring box is stuck between clumsy fingers, and why were pants pockets so _small_ these days? Steve yanks his hand free in frustration, and to his horror, the box comes with it, flinging itself across the table and hitting Tony square on the forehead before landing on the table in front of him with a soft _thunk_.

“What the hell?” Tony’s face quickly goes from confusion to a kind of shocked delight when he realizes what had just fallen in front of him. 

“Tony, I…” Steve starts, but this is wrong, it’s all wrong, and he shoves his chair back with a screech, moving to the other side of the table, where he gets down on one knee the way every romantic comedy in the twenty century had taught him. He can feel every eye on them now, and his back prickles with nervous tension but there’s no going back now.

“This was not how I planned it, for the record. I was much… smoother, in my head. I certainly didn’t throw the ring at you.” Steve takes a steadying breath. 

“But I love you, Tony, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Whether that means eating pasta and listening to you ramble about a new idea, or watching you work while I sketch and you telling me not to draw the drool on your chin when you fall asleep mid-thought. I want to wake up for the rest of time and know that you’re mine, forever. And, I never _ever_ want to do this again. My nerves can’t handle it. Tony, will you marry me?” 

Tony laughs, not _at_ Steve, but fondly, warmly, and stands, helping Steve to his feet. 

“Of course, Steve, yes. I love you,” he says, pulling him in for a kiss that has way too much tongue for a decently crowded restaurant on a Thursday evening, but none of that matters. Then he pulls back, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“On one condition,” Tony says. 

Steve frowns, narrowing his eyes. “Sure, what is it?”

“Will you quit running to the bathroom now?” 

Tony grins at him, and Steve presses his face into Tony’s shoulder, muffling his own laughter. He’d be hearing about this for a very, very long time, but somehow, he doesn’t quite mind. 


	48. Itsy Bitsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25\. Aren’t you supposed to be the adult here?

Tony has his work goggles pulled down tight over his eyes, intent on soldering one of his suits when a crash yanks him back to reality.

“Trying to give me a heart attack, Itsy Bitsy?” Tony calls over to Peter, who is now trying to web his way out from underneath a pile of scrap metal.

“Mr. Stark,” he calls out, voice panicked. “There’s a spider on the workbench,” he says, finally pulling himself up from the detritus.

“Is it… you?” Tony smirks at him.

“No it’s not me, it’s big and furry and over there, oh my god Mr. Stark, please, just _kill it!_”

Tony’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Aren’t you the spiderling? Baby Spider? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, one with the spiders?” He asks incredulously, hoping Peter doesn’t notice his furtive glances towards Peter’s side of the workshop.

“I’m Spider-_Man_, not Spider _Leader_, okay? I hate them! There, I said it, I’m terrified of spiders, now would you _please_ just—”

“Alright, just relax, okay kid? I’ll call Steve, and he’ll—”

It’s Peter’s turn to be incredulous now. “Steve? Why? What’s he gonna do? Can’t you just step on it or blast it with something?”

“Look kid, let me handle it alright?” Tony takes a few careful steps back from the worktop and shoots off a text to Steve with lots of SOS and terrified looking emojis that Peter doesn’t have to know about.

“Steve’s coming, he’ll take care of it,” Tony confirms once it’s sent and Steve sends back a string of laughing faces because he is The Best while simultaneously being The Worst.

Peter laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult here?”

“Listen kid,” Tony starts, only to be interrupted by Steve’s silent arrival.

“Don’t move, it’s on you!” Steve calls from the doorway.

Steve doesn’t specify who, and they can’t see the playful look on his face, and the terrified screams that come from both Tony and Peter prove that there are exactly _zero_ adults in that room.


	49. Please Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's an idea for a fic: tony dealing with the aftermath of a battle wherein steve took a hit meant for him and got heavily injured. Bonus if peter's there to comfort his dad and convince him that "pops is a strong man, he'll get through this!" cue a big family hug when steve finally wakes up :'D

Tony paces the hallway outside Steve’s room, where the doctor had kicked him out to run some more tests. He stalks up and back, peering into the room whenever he could, though it was often enough that he could feel the nurse’s eyes on him every time.

“Mr. Stark,” she says now, which is already a step in the wrong direction, “I’m going to have to ask that you take a seat. Dr. Saint James is the best of the best, and I assure you, your husband is in good hands.” She tries for a sympathetic smile, and Tony knows she’s just doing her job, really, he does, but that was Steve in there, _his_ Steve. His husband, and Peter’s dad and the leader of the Avengers, and… And it was all Tony’s fault. 

“It’s _Rogers_-Stark,” Tony snaps, sinking into a chair anyway. There’s no point in arguing, not when Steve was in there, unconscious and hooked up to way too many beeping machines. Tony kneads his hands together nervously and wills himself to take a deep breath. Steve was going to be fine. He was in good hands, and he was going to be _fine_. 

But what if he _wasn’t_ fine? What if he never woke up, and Tony never got to tell him how sorry he was, never got to yell at him for diving in front of a shot aimed at Tony? 

Tony’s anxious thoughts are cut short by the distant sound of Peter’s voice, and Rhodey calling out after him. 

“I found him!” Peter calls triumphantly, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor as he comes to a screeching stop in front of Tony. He wastes no time pulling his son into his lap and hugging him as tightly as he can. When he looks up, eyes wet, he catches Rhodey’s eye.

“Thanks for bringing him down here, I came straight here after everything, and I didn’t know what to do and…” Tony pauses, gnaws at his lip. “What if he doesn’t wake up?” He says in a hushed tone, finally voicing that terrible worst case scenario. 

“He will, Tones. Steve Rogers is one of the strongest and most stubborn people I’ve ever met, he is _not_ going out this easy,” Rhodey says, squeezing his arm. “And I know you’re thinking it, so let me be the one to tell you: there’s nothing you could have done to change what happened today. Steve was always going to dive in front of you, just like you would for him. It’s the downside of marrying your partner on the battlefield, but it was not your fault.”

Tony swallows hard, finds it in him to nod and look at Rhodey, his best friend and the one person who would never bullshit him. “Thanks. Really.”

Rhodey squeezes his arm again and Peter looks between them. “Is Daddy sick?” he asks.

Tony’s heart clenches but he takes another deep breath and nods. “Yeah, Petey, but he’s with the doctors now, so we just have to be patient while he sleeps. He’s really tired right now,” Tony explains.

Peter nods solemnly, then looks up at Tony. “Don’t cry Daddy!” Peter brings a small hand to Tony’s face and pats it. Tony hadn’t even realized he’d let the stray tears escape. “Daddy’s big and strong! He’s gonna get medicine and get better!” Peter says this with such unwavering confidence that Tony aches for him to be right. 

“He gets it,” Rhodey says to Tony. 

Just then, the nurse comes striding over to where they were sitting, and Tony immediately stands, shifting Peter onto his hip. 

“Dr. Saint James let me know that your husband is waking up now, Mr. Rogers-Stark,” she says primly. “You can go ahead in and see him now.” She gestures to the door before turning on her heel and walking away. 

Relief rushes through Tony like a wave, filling every piece of him. 

“I’ll give you guys a few minutes alone,” Rhodey says, standing. “I’ll go grab a cup of coffee, and I can bring Peter home later if you want to stay with Steve tonight.”

“I ever tell you that I don’t know what I’d do without you, Platypus?” Tony asks quietly. His throat clicks. He’s lucky, he knows this; looking around at his little family, knowing Steve was going to be okay, Tony couldn’t ask for much more. 

“It’s always nice to be reminded,” Rhodey says with a smile. “Now go, he’s waiting for you I’m sure.” 

Tony lets Peter down, and they push the door open. Steve’s laying in bed, his eyes open beneath the bruises and cuts peppering his face, and Tony nearly flings himself at him.

“_Steve_, thank god,” Tony takes Steve’s hand and holds on tightly. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve says, reaching out for Tony’s hand. His voice is raspy and tired but _his_. “Hi, Peter, have you been doing a good job keeping Daddy company while I slept?” He asks with as much of a smile as he can manage.

“Yes! I knew you were getting better,” Peter exclaims. He lets Tony pull him onto his lap, and together they lean into Steve’s bed, for the most awkward, enthusiastic group hug possible. Tony is already working out the physics of climbing into bed with him later. 

“I love you,” Tony says into their little huddle. 

“Love you Daddy!”

“We love you too, Tony,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. 

There’d be time for more talking and more hugs in the morning, and Steve, thanks to the serum, would recover quickly from here, but for now, there was just this. Their tiny family huddled around one bed, overwhelmed with relief as Peter made plans for soup and bedtime stories when Steve came home. 

Tony buries his face in Steve’s shoulder and breathes deeply, matching their breathing, just to remind himself that Steve really was going to be just fine. He exhales slowly; he really is the luckiest man in the world.


	50. Secretive Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss. (College AU)

Tony Stark is a menace. 

Steve was doing everything he could to ignore the foot Tony kept sliding up his calf, pointedly not looking up from his laptop at the increasingly frequent sighs emanating from Tony’s side of the library table, but it was also getting increasingly difficult. Tony is a vibrant presence, to say the least, and Steve knows it’s only a matter of time, probably a matter of minutes, before he gives in. He feels the beginnings of a smile despite himself, and bites his lip. 

When Steve looks up, Tony is staring at him, head perched on his hands, studying him, and something in his gaze makes Steve’s face heat. 

“You should try looking at your notes that intently,” Steve offers, swallowing. Tony had the ability to make him squirm, stomach flip-flopping, with just a glance, and this was definitely one of those times.

“I know it all already, I could teach my own class. Besides, notes aren’t this pretty,” Tony informs him, not breaking his gaze. 

Steve looks down, hair falling across his forehead, hoping it would prevent Tony from seeing his growing flush. “Sleep deprived is pretty, is it?”

“On you?” Tony’s eyebrows lift at this. “Come on Steve, anything looks good on you.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but a smile gets the best of him this time. “Well, some of us have to work for our grades, so…”

“You know, they say it’s helpful to take frequent, fifteen minute breaks while you study. Something about not overwhelming your brain.” There’s no mistaking the playful smile in Tony’s voice.

“That sounds suspiciously made up for someone majoring in the sciences,” Steve notes. “And who’s _they?_ Will _they_ take my Art History final for me?”

“People. I’m not sure. Anyway, we should go for a quick walk, then get right back to it. I saw a book earlier I wanted to show you.” Tony’s eyes are dancing now, and Steve can at least say he _attempted_ to tell him no, this time. Tony holds out his hand. “Come on, _Steven_.”

God, he broke out his full name; Steve was powerless against that and Tony knew it. “A book, hm?” He lets Tony lead them to an old, dusty section of the library, where no one ever went unless, well…

Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, drawing him in close. He walks them backward until Steve’s leaning against one of the shelves, then smiles at him, lazy and intoxicating. When he brings their lips together it’s slow at first, then with more heat, more determination and tongue, until Steve is dizzy with want, until every artist and date and process feels far, far away. Tucked away in the corner of the library like this, Tony’s arms around him, his lips doing frankly _unfair_ things along his neck, Steve decides that fake sciences might have their merits after all. 


	51. Stairwell Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference", with Tony having the advantage over Steve for once.

“So… come here often?” Tony asks suggestively at the sound of the stairwell door opening.

“Only when I get sketchy messages saying to come here ASAP,” Steve says, smiling as Tony wraps his arms around him and pulls him in. 

“Not sketchy, Steven, I just missed you, is that the worst thing in the world?” He presses warm kisses to Steve’s neck with every word, a move he knows will absolve him of any and all crimes.

“The worst? Mmm, no. But it’s not nice when you say things like _ASAP_, _emergency_, and _dying_ in the same sentence. It’s just common courtesy not to worry your boyfriend, Tony.” Steve gets that little wrinkle between his eyebrows, the one he always got when Tony did something he found particularly insane. The Look would probably be a lot more effective if Tony didn’t find it so endearing. 

“Fine, fine, I guess that’s fair. I just wanted to say hi and I love you and all these meetings are killing me.” Tony pouts.

“Even I can’t argue with you on that one,” Steve admits, running a hand through his hair. “Today feels endless. But I’ll see you for dinner, right?”

“That’s about all that’s getting me through this day,” Tony nods, looking at his watch. “Seven-ish? Shit, I have to go, Pepper’s calling me, probably wondering where I went, which means she’s minutes from finding me.”

Steve laughs. “Far be it from me to incite her wrath.” He pretends to shudder and pulls Tony in for a long, tight hug before letting him go. “Go, I love you. Five more hours.”

“Wait!” Tony is halfway up the stairs when he turns, Steve already retreating in the opposite direction, a few steps below Tony now. 

“Yeah?” Steve turns, blue eyes lighting up. 

“Forgot something,” Tony says, pulling Steve in by the neck for a kiss that’s long and sweet and full of promises for later. 

“_That’s_ not fair,” Steve grumbles when they break apart. 

“They don’t call me a genius for nothing,” Tony remarks with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, is this how you always feel?” He gestures between them. “It’s nice up here.”

Steve laughs. “You’re delaying the inevitable,” he points out. 

Tony kisses him again. “Someone doesn’t like being the short one for the first time ever.”

“I don’t know, it’s not working out so bad,” Steve says, reaching up and bringing their lips together for another quick kiss. They smile at each other, stupidly sappy until the distant _click, click, click_ of heels brings them back to reality. They leap apart, both heading back to meetings and commitments, the promise of later propelling them forward.


	52. Sleepy Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

Steve wakes to the soft brush of fingers against his cheek and smiles, keeping his eyes closed. They did this sometimes, peppered each other with soft, sleepy kisses, just because. They waited to see how long they could lay there, feigning sleep with their hands wandering, before either one of them gave in, or Peter came bouncing in like a spring to wake them up. Tony’s hands continued on their way, unhurried fingers caressing Steve’s cheeks and his hair, landing at the nape of his neck, where he felt Tony press a kiss, soft and warm enough that goosebumps shivered across his skin.

He sighs, happy to lay there while Tony plies his face with kisses. Tony pulls him in closer, burying his face in Steve’s hair and smiling widely enough that Steve could feel his cheeks rise with it. He moves forward, lips searching for purchase, and ends up colliding with Tony’s chin. This gets him a soft laugh, and something inside Steve thrills a little at the sound, at the idea that they’ve spent this long together and something as small as a clumsy, misplaced kiss to the chin could still make his husband laugh. Mornings like this were a nice reminder that no matter how things changed (they had an actual human _child_ they were responsible for now, on top of the fate of the universe, but no pressure), the more they really did stay the same. 

As if reading his mind, Tony’s lips finally meet his for a long, languid kiss, the cherry on top of their decidedly good morning. Steve smiles into it, leaving his eyes closed for a few seconds afterward, his _good morning_ mouthed against Tony’s lips more than spoken out loud. When he opens his eyes, the light from the window is falling over the bed, giving Tony’s eyes the bright amber color Steve loves, and he falls back onto the pillow, content.

Tony grins over at him, a man without a care in the world, at least in this moment, and Steve smiles back, tracing patterns down Tony’s forearm as they lay there. As blissful as it all was, though, there was just one thing missing. Steve’s about to comment on it when they hear the quick, shuffling sound of socked feet on hardwood, and their smiles widen. 

“Daddy!” Peter calls, hurling himself onto the bed and nestling in between them. “It’s morning!”

Tony runs a hand through Peter’s hair and asks what they should do for breakfast as their son fills them in on the dream he had. It was morning, and a very good one at that. 


	53. Chilly Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17\. Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

“Steve,” Tony whines, “I’m so cold. How are you _not_ cold?”

They were walking back from a late lunch, and the fall evening was crisp around them. The sun had been bright and warm enough that Tony saw no need for a jacket when they left the house earlier. Steve, on the other hand, rarely got cold unless it was nearly below zero outside. Now, though, Tony was regretting all his choices. 

Steve stares at him. “I _told_ you to bring a jacket! A strong breeze gives you the chills! You’re one of the coldest people I know.” Steve says this fondly, but a worried look immediately replaces his chiding smile. “Cold like temperature-wise, I mean, otherwise you’re, you know…” Steve trails off with a smile. “You,” he finishes. 

Tony gives him a put-out look. “Unfortunately we can’t all be as hot as you,” he says. “In _every_ sense,” he adds.

“Here we go,” Steve says with a long-suffering sigh. “I love you,” Steve reminds him. “And I’m happy to remind you of that as often as you need. I’ll add an _I told you so_ for the jacket this time, though. Think you can make it two more blocks before the hypothermia kicks in?”

Tony huffs a dramatic sigh as they walk the rest of the way home, shivering a little on the elevator ride upstairs.

“Steeeve,” Tony tries again. “I’m frozen. I mean it,” he says. 

“Come here you big baby,” Steve says affectionately. He pulls Tony in by the waist so that they’re pressed tightly together, and kisses him long and sweet, enough that warmth thrills all the way through both of them.

Tony rests his head on Steve’s chest when they break apart, smiling softly up him as he slips his hands up and underneath Steve’s shirt. He jerks back at the touch of Tony’s frozen fingers with a gasp. 

_“Tony!”_

“I told you I was frozen!” Tony says, indignantly. “You’re warm, though.” He runs his hands up and down Steve’s sides, and they both shiver, Tony at the abrupt introduction of warmth on his fingers and Steve at the soft, ticklish touch. 

“Using me for my body, Tony Rogers-Stark, how dare you?” Steve murmurs into his neck. 

The elevator dings open then, and Tony takes Steve’s hand in his, unwilling to let him go so soon. He pauses as the door slides shut behind them, drawing his husband in for another kiss.

“Well, I’m no expert, but I think the whole ‘in sickness and in health’ thing includes hypothermia, no matter whose fault it is,” Tony shrugs. “Come on, I think I can make it up to you…”

Steve shakes his head, smiling, and lets Tony pull him through the door and into their room, the chill of the day soon forgotten. 


	54. Top of the Head Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 43\. A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Steve’s face is pressed into something soft and warm when he wakes up. Half asleep and as comfortable as he can ever remember being on a couch, he turns and curls himself in closer, nuzzling his face into the fabric, only to find that it’s soft, yes, but solid too. As his senses return to him, Steve realizes he must’ve fallen asleep sketching while the team watched a movie. Even with his eyes closed Steve can tell it’s late; the room has that dark, middle of the night emptiness to it. 

A soft sigh from beside him lets him know that the soft solid thing his face is currently smushed against is actually Tony’s chest, though the fact that he knows it’s Tony from the sound of a barely there sigh is something he would deal with later. _Much later._

Now, though, Steve keeps his eyes shut and his breathing even, his best imitation of someone fast asleep. It’s comfortable like this, even though he knows he should get up and find his sketchbook before Tony sees… well, anything, really. The idea of it makes his stomach turn over, but the prospect of being tucked up and dozing against Tony did something entirely different to his insides, something he wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet. His brain screams at him that it’s idiotic, that none of this is real, just the happiest of accidents, but… surely five more minutes won’t break his heart.

Tony is quiet and still beside him, a side of him that Steve rarely, if ever, got to witness. Part of him wants to open his eyes, take in the expression on Tony’s face. Is he asleep? Contemplative? Or, what if he was uncomfortable, and trying to find the simplest way to extricate himself from Steve’s sleeping form? God, this was stupid, Steve was going to open his eyes, he really was. Right now. 

Except Tony starts talking just then, quietly, and it’s clear he thinks Steve is sound asleep enough that he wouldn’t hear him.

“I gotta get up, Capsicle, or my back will hate me in the morning.” Tony’s voice is sleepy and slow, tinged with a soft fondness that makes Steve’s heart _ache_. “I’ll_ five more minutes_ myself into hours. S’already been too long, probably.” Tony says this like a confession, and it takes every ounce of self control for Steve to keep his breathing measured, though his thumping heart threatens to ruin everything. 

“You look too relaxed for me to wake you up, though you’re young and spry for a hundred years old, I think you’ll be okay,” Tony continues. 

Steve feels him shift just a little and wants to grab Tony’s hand and ask him to please just _stay_, but that would lead to the awkwardness of explaining that he’d only been _pretending_ to sleep, and that would lead… somewhere. The unknown is what keeps Steve laying there, eyes closed and heart hammering. 

Tony sighs again, easing himself out from under Steve, but it’s different from the content sigh of a few minutes ago. It’s almost… _wistful_. Steve knows those sighs all too well, had enough of his own wistful sighs in Tony’s presence to recognize one when he hears it, and he freezes when he feels Tony come back, closer than before. A blanket gets placed over him carefully, covering all of him, but still Tony stays, just a foot away. 

Then, so softly Steve almost wonders if he’s still asleep and all of this had been a wonderful dream, Tony’s lips on his head, against his hair, soft and lovely and … gone. His heart sinks.

“Night, Steve,” Tony says, and Steve’s brain screams at him again. _Now or never. _

_Now. Now. Now. _

Because it couldn’t be never, not after this. 

Tony turns and before he can take a step, Steve shifts, reaches out and grabs his hand. 

“Tony,” he says, before he can think himself out of it, “wait.”


	55. Endgame WHO?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spontaneous prompt for u... steve/tony and a reunion after a long, long time apart

It’s a surprisingly smooth landing, Tony notes dazedly. Girl must be really strong to physically _carry _the ship back from outer space. His mind reels and he squeezes Nebula’s hand, holding onto the railing gingerly. It’s strange, knowing that his feet, his _body_ were on solid ground after nearly a month in space. He’d been so certain he was about to die out there with nothing, no goodbyes, never seeing Steve again. And now here he is, about to find out who made it through the snap and who didn’t. He lost the kid but maybe… maybe…

No.

It’s… a lot, all at once. Too much, almost. It hurts to think about so he doesn’t.

He walks down the ship steps carefully, focused only on his feet, the ground, very careful not to collapse in disbelief that any of this was happening.

He was hardly out of the ship, relishing the feel of solid earth beneath him when the wind is knocked out of him. Pepper, flinging herself into his side, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Tony, oh my god. I thought… I thought…”

He grabs onto her, solid and real and breathing.

“You’re here. You’re here,” he repeats, and he’s overwhelmed once again. If he was here, and Pepper was here, then maybe there really was a chance…

“Pep. Is… is Steve, did he—“

He’s feels Pepper nodding and he the air rushes out of his lungs as Steve comes sprinting across the field to him.

So many times Tony had pictured this moment, the things he would say, the promises he would make, starting with never leaving Steve’s side again and ending with a lifetime together, if Steve still wanted that.

Now though, Steve’s in front of him, breathing heavily, his face pained and relieved and incredulous all at once, and Tony can’t say anything at all. His heart’s in his throat and he’s vaguely aware that he’s crying but all he can do is clutch Steve to him, fingers fisting into the soft cotton of his shirt. Steve’s strong arms circle his waist and Tony lets himself sag into him, letting Steve hold him up, and his hands are everywhere, like he’s checking to make sure it was really Tony in front of him.

They stand there, silent, holding on for dear life, and Tony’s aware that he’s never been at such an insurmountable loss for words. They’d lost so much, lost nearly everything, and there was so much still ahead of them but maybe, maybe they’d be okay. They were together, after all.


	56. First Date Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35\. An awkward kiss given after a first date.

As they walk back from the restaurant, Tony feels like his entire body is sweating despite the cool evening breeze. The walk back is quiet, but not uncomfortably so; at least, Tony hopes it isn’t. They’d had a nearly perfect night, especially for a first date. Good food, better company. They’d laughed a lot, and there were none of those terrible long pauses where you kind of look at each other, smile awkwardly, and shrug, grasping at straws for something to talk about. With Steve, everything just kind of _flowed_. 

Now, Tony’s hands keep brushing Steve’s as they walk, and he wonders if Steve was moving closer, if he was trying to grab Tony’s hand on purpose. God, forty-five years old and the thought of something as simple as _holding Steve’s hand_ makes his stomach turn itself inside out. Tony hadn’t felt like this since… Well, ever. This kind of nervous, giddy excitement was usually only found in his lab.

Their hands brush again, and Tony lets it happen, too nervous to close the gap and take Steve’s hand in his, but enjoying the closeness too much to pull away. He distracts himself by thinking about the garlic bread they shared, the glasses of wine they drank, then stops to wonder if his lips and tongue were stained purple-red. He debates if this is the kind of thing that Steve would notice, and if he did, if it would bother him. Would they even get close enough for that to matter? The knot in Tony’s stomach tightens. They were almost back now, and he had no idea what was supposed to happen next. Sure, they had a great time, but now they were quiet, and Steve was so _close_ and Tony still didn’t know if he was trying to hold his hand or not. 

Tony was positive he used to be good at this. Smooth, even. But this was _Steve_ and that threw everything off-kilter. 

They make it back to the tower, stopping before they go inside, and Tony feels like he’s vibrating from the inside out, his whole body humming with nervous energy. 

“So…” Tony starts, just as Steve reaches down and _finally_ takes Tony’s hand in his. It’s warm and big enough that Tony’s hand looks almost dainty held in Steve’s palm, but it’s soft and careful, and Steve gives him a shy little smile that threatens to end him. Tony watches the bob of his adam’s apple as Steve swallows a few times, and he can see that Steve’s just as nervous, has just as many questions as he does. 

They stand there for a long, quiet minute, hand in hand and looking at each other until eventually, Tony manages a nod. He takes a deep breath and moves in, looking up at Steve’s blue eyes and leaning up to close the gap between them. It’s just a tentative press of lips, noses bumping as they try to find their rhythm, but it’s _perfect_ even in its awkwardness, and Tony finds himself thinking crazy things, like that this is the last first kiss he ever wants to get. It should terrify him, the idea of it, but it doesn’t, not this time. He wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and pulls him in as close as he can. This kiss is all enthusiasm and passion and Tony feels almost dizzy when they pull apart, foreheads pressed together, grinning at each other like teenagers. 

“So,” Tony says again, “Does this mean we can do this again sometime?”

Steve laughs, leaning down and kissing him in a way that Tony takes as a resounding _yes_. 


	57. Salt & Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony take a long walk down to the beach at night.

“Take a walk with me?” Tony asks quiet enough so only Steve can hear. Steve turns and studies his face for a second before nodding. 

“Yeah, I could use some air actually,” Steve agrees. He grabs his navy bomber jacket off the hook and opens the door. “After you,” he tells Tony, a hand at the small of his back. Tony does his best not to blush at his boyfriend, ever the 1940s gentleman, and hurries out the door. 

It’s a nice night, warm with a breeze blowing off the water and through their hair, and Tony lets out a long breath, like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. Which, really, he kind of had. He reaches down and laces his fingers through Steve’s, looking down at them and smiling. 

“Hi,” Tony says.

“Hi,” Steve echoes, his hand warm around Tony’s. “Want to walk down to the beach?” he asks, because somehow, he can always anticipate what Tony’s thinking. 

Tony nods and lets Steve lead the way. It’s nice, walking in the semi-darkness, the sea air surrounding them, and loud seagulls from earlier gone quiet. It’s late, and families are walking back from the boardwalk, pushing sleeping kids in strollers laden with hard won stuffed animals and the remains of cotton candy and popcorn. It’s easy, here, to slip into the crowd, become just another couple out for a walk at night, and it’s immediately freeing. Steve turns to look at Tony for a minute before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, earning him a bright smile. 

“A kiss in public? So bold of you, Steven,” Tony grins when Steve just shrugs and smiles back at him. 

They walk until the boardwalk ends and they hit the sand, where the darkness envelopes them without the light from the shops and the rides. Tony can just about make out the light heather gray of Steve’s t-shirt, but not much else. He tugs on his hand. 

“Don’t lose me,” Tony tells him. 

Steve chooses then to pick Tony up and throw him over his shoulder like he was nothing more than a discarded beach towel, hauling him down the sand.

Tony slaps at his back a few times, laughing. “This is not what I meant and you know it!” He sounds breathless and happy, a new feeling that he was coming to realize always resurfaced when he and Steve managed to grab time alone together.

“You said not to lose you,” Steve points out, not breaking a sweat despite the fact that he was carrying a grown man over his shoulder. “Can’t lose you like this.” 

“Well, the view’s great, if you were wondering. Ten outta ten, keep it up.” Tony says appreciatively. Steve just laughs and keeps going, and Tony is more than a little disappointed when Steve puts him down when they get close to the water. The waves crash around them, feeling simultaneously close and far away, terrifyingly powerful out there in the dark. 

Steve drops into the sand first, pulling Tony down with him so that he’s sitting between his legs. 

“This is nice” Steve murmurs into Tony’s neck. 

Tony hums his agreement. “It’s great, this ‘family vacation’ thing, but it’s kinda hard to crawl into your boyfriend’s lap in a house full of people who don’t know you’re dating,” Tony points out. “Is it too much to say I missed you even though you were right there all day? It was almost worse because I couldn’t—” Steve’s lips on his cut Tony off mid-thought, and suddenly, they’re making out on the dark, moonlit beach like teenagers, grabbing a minute alone wherever they could.

“It’s not too much. I felt it too,” Steve says when they break apart. Tony smiles, resting his forehead against Steve’s. They sit like that for a while, enjoying the sounds of the waves, and the quiet darkness. When Tony shivers, Steve rubs his arms and shrugs out of his jacket, handing it to him. 

“Here, put this on,” Steve tells him. “I brought it more for you than me anyway,” he says before Tony can insist he keep it. “You know I run hot.”

Tony takes the jacket hesitantly, but waggles his eyebrows. “Oh I know all about how hot you are, soldier.” The jacket feel glorious: warm and oversized so that it falls down past his wrists, with the added bonus of smelling like Steve. 

“You might not get this back,” Tony warns. 

Steve makes a thoughtful sound. “I can live with that. You do know though, that nothing says _we’re dating_ like you walking around in my clothes. At least according to every teen movie I’ve been made to watch during movie nights. Besides, I don’t think I could resist the sight of it,” Steve points out, cupping Tony’s cheek softly before pulling him back in for a kiss. 

“Mmph, worth it. Totally worth it,” Tony says into Steve’s lips. “I’ll wear your jacket, you’ll get my class ring. Go to the prom, the whole deal,” Tony promises. 

“Bet you say that to all the guys who carry you down to the beach and give you their jackets,” Steve teases him. 

Tony leans in and kisses him again, softly this time, just because he can. Because it’s easy, sitting and talking and flirting on the beach in the dark with Steve like they had no responsibilities and all the time in the world. They stay that way for what feels like hours, wrapped up in each other in the sand, the moonlight bouncing off the water. 

Something settles between them while they sit there. They’d kept their relationship quiet for nearly six months while they figured things out, laying groundwork and hoping that this thing between them wasn’t as too good to be true as it felt. They don’t talk about it, but when they dust the sand from their jeans and walk slowly back to the house, hand in hand, they can feel it, the knowledge that things will be different now. 

Because Tony doesn’t take off Steve’s jacket when they get back. Doesn’t even let go of his hand. Instead, they sit side by side on the couch, pretending not to see the stunned looks they get when Steve loops an arm around Tony’s waist. There would be time for questions and explanations another day. Every day if the press had anything to do with it, but for now, they have the beach house, their team, and the warmth of shared jackets and stolen moments between two people who loved each other. 


	58. Double Dose of Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H/C but they BOTH got hurt and they're BOTH then trying to take care of the other one, while ignoring their own injuries. Maybe it turns into a little tussle while they fight over who gets to be the hurt and who gets to be the comfort :P
> 
> Tony wakes up and doesn’t know why everything hurts but then again, Steve is in his bed so he gets distracted.

The first thing Tony thinks when he wakes up for the first time is that everything, absolutely every bone in his body, felt like it was broken. He wonders for a minute if it was possible he’d gotten hit by a truck, or if a hulked-out Bruce had caught him in a free fall again. It had happened before and while Tony was always grateful, it tended to _hurt_. 

The second thing Tony notices is that he’s not alone in his bed. He’s barely conscious, and he’s too sleep-addled to start piecing together the events that landed him here, in this much pain, but he knows one thing for sure: Steve Rogers should not be in his bed. He’s sound asleep beside Tony, curled in on himself like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He looked impossibly _small_ for someone so big, rolled up like that, and Tony thinks it must have been bad, whatever happened, if it made Steve tired enough that he’d fall asleep in Tony Stark’s bed. If Tony falls asleep again tucked in as closely to Steve as he could manage without actually touching him, well, it was _his_ bed in the first place, he could sleep how he liked. 

When Tony wakes up the second time, Steve is gone, and he’s doing his best not to let this fact bother him when Steve appears in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink, though Tony knew this couldn’t be true. 

“Oh, you’re up, thank god,” Steve sighs, moving further into the room uncertainly. 

“Of course I’m up,” Tony says, surprising himself with how weak and raspy his voice sounds. “God, why do I feel like I got hit by an eighteen wheeler?” 

Steve gives him a pained expression. “How much do you remember about what happened?” 

Tony tries to think, but his head is pounding and all he’s coming up with is a crash and then darkness. “Almost nothing,” he admits with a wince. “A crash, but that’s about it.” 

Steve takes another step, and Tony notices he’s limping, and there’s a gash and bruise on his cheek that looks like it hurts.

“You were kidnapped. We found you pretty quickly but when I got to you they… the building was blown up, you were hit pretty hard in the blast. I got you out, but it didn’t look… it was terrible, the way we found you, Tony. You tried to warn me, and I managed to grab you and run,” Steve explains. 

Tony can tell there was a lot he wasn’t saying, and he’s glad for it. Steve didn’t paint a pretty picture, and the word _kidnap_ alone had been making him feel panicky since Afghanistan. 

“Christ,” he mutters. “You’ve seen better days yourself there, Cap,” Tony tells him. “You go to medical about that limp? Your cheek’s a mess, too.”

Steve touches the bruise like he’d forgotten about it and shrugs. “I’ve pretty much been right here, since we’ve been back. Did the debrief but, uh, yeah. You scared us, Tony.” Steve sets his mouth in a firm line, and there are so many questions Tony should ask, but all he wants to say is _why did you sleep in my bed last night? _

He bites his lip instead. 

“Well, I’ll be okay,” Tony tells him. “You really should have that looked at, at least see if Bruce…” 

“I’m fine, Tony, really. Do you need anything? Tea or coffee or… juice?” Steve must know that _juice_ is hardly enough to distract Tony once his mind is made up, but doesn’t push. Much.

“Only if you pick one, and let me get it for both of us,” Tony counters. 

Steve fixes him with a Captain America stare. “You almost died, Tony. The least I can do is make sure you’re hydrated while you recover.” He sounds exasperated now. 

“You carried me out of a burning, blown up building, if I heard you correctly. I was pretty tired when you were explaining it, but I think that’s the gist. You’ve done more than enough.” Tony tells him. You didn’t leave my side, even when I wasn’t conscious to know it, he thinks but doesn’t say. 

Steve just huffs and turns on his heel, returning with a glorious mug of coffee for Tony and some tea for himself. He leaves for a little while, muttering something about paperwork, but Tony thinks he pops his head into his room too frequently for anything to really be getting done. 

On the third visit, Tony grabs Steve’s hand without thinking. 

“Would you just take a break, Steve, please? It’ll make me feel better,” he says in a rush, letting go of Steve’s hand when his cheeks go a little pink. 

Steve stares at him and sits down, tentatively, on the opposite side of the bed. Tony isn’t sure how he manages it, looking so small and unsure when he’s normally one of the most confident people Tony knows, but he’s doing it again, and it makes something turn over in his chest.

“Can you just tell me more about what happened? You’re … not yourself. We’ve had close calls before but this is different, why?” Tony has to know. 

Steve stills, staring at him before swallowing. “It was just… seeing you like that. I thought you were _dead_, Tony, dead in a cave, and wouldn’t that have been something, after everything? And then you opened your eyes and you went from absolute terror to just… you looked like you saw someone you knew you could count on and then I still almost lost you. So a sore knee and a bruise seem like nothing in comparison if it means… well. I’m just glad you’ll be okay.” 

Tony nods slowly. It hurts him to look at Steve with a busted up leg and a gashed bruise on his cheek, so he can kind of see where he’s coming from. 

“Yeah. Well, thank you. It’s coming back to me slowly and I’m glad you were there, Steve. Now please. Just sit here and let me get you a bandaid or something, alright?” Steve doesn’t argue this time, just lets Tony make his way slowly from his bed to the bathroom to rummage around for some disinfectant and a box of bandaids. 

“You really don’t have to—“ Steve tries weakly when Tony gets back, but he looks _wrecked:_ exhausted and devastated and unsure, enough that something comes over Tony and he lays a hand on his shoulder, just for a minute. 

“I got it, okay? We’re sitting, and I’m fine. We’ll be fine, really, Steve, take a deep breath with me.” Tony says, softer now, not so insistent. Fighting with Steve was never as effective as he wanted it to be anyway. 

Steve nods and draws in a long, steadying breath and Tony does the same, the whole things suddenly strangely intimate. 

When Steve nods, a fraction more relaxed now, Tony dabs some cream onto a cotton ball and swipes it carefully across Steve’s cheek. He winces, a little thing that’s hardly more than a blink, but Tony stops. 

“Sorry… stings a little,” Steve tells him.

“Just don’t want that to get infected. God, you really shouldn’t have left this so long,” Tony chides him without any real conviction behind it. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t meet Tony’s eye as he lays a bandage over the cut and rubs a thumb over it, satisfied with his handiwork. 

“It’s a start,” Tony says. 

It’s a little easier after that, getting Steve to just relax. They make their way to the common room, and he lets Steve bring him painkillers, but he insists on making them popcorn and grabbing blankets and tea for the both of them when it gets a little later. They manage to agree that _neither_ of them are any good in the kitchen on a good day, so Tony orders pizza from his phone, and marvels at the way Steve downs six slices in the time it takes him to eat one. 

“Serum,” Steve says through a mouthful, and Tony snorts a laugh. 

“See, it’s not so bad is it? Having someone help you out a little?” Tony asks when there’s a lull in the conversation and there’s nothing grabbing their interest on TV. “If I knew this was all I had to do to get you to hangout with me I would’ve almost died ages ago,” Tony kids. 

“Don’t joke about that,” Steve snaps, and just like that, Tony’s ruined whatever moment he thought they were having and hates himself for it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quickly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“‘S’fine Steve,” Tony mutters. 

“It’s… really not fine. You don’t know what it was like, thinking I was too late. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done. I can’t do this alone, you know. You might be the most stubborn guy here but I do… need you, Tony.” 

The air seems to leave the room all at once at Steve’s confession and Tony feels like they’re on the verge of something they won’t be able to take back. He shifts on the couch, tossing the empty plates onto the coffee table and resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, just a little. 

“I’m not the stubborn one who let their leg sit untreated and their cheek crust up,” Tony points out quietly.

“Tell me you wouldn’t be in the lab right now if I wasn’t here,” Steve argues. 

“Well. Maybe. But I’m … pretty happy right where I am. I—“ Tony swallows, then leaps headfirst into whatever this was. “I need you too, you know,” he finishes.

Steve turns to him then, blue eyes boring into Tony’s until he can’t breathe, searching for something.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Steve breathes. 

Tony’s still frozen in place, wants to ask: _how glad?_ and _why did you sleep in my bed?_ and _what’s about to happen here?_ And maybe most of all, _do you want this too?_

Instead, he brings a careful hand to Steve’s bandaged cheek and leaves it there for a long minute, before using it to pull their mouths together. It’s awkward at first, noses and teeth colliding, but then something seems to awaken in Steve, and he pulls Tony in as close as he can get him, putting all his relief and fear and frustration of the last few days into the kiss until they’re both left breathless but not entirely surprised. 

Tony leans his forehead against Steve’s and smiles a little. “I’m glad I lived long enough to get to do that,” he says after a breath. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, his mouth finally curling into a smile as his hands find their way into Tony’s hair, bringing their lips back together. Maybe they’d found a new way they could take care of each other.


	59. Toast the Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could i request some stony and a puppy? i have absolutely no direction for this i just need so much fluff rn

“Before you get mad, the first thing you need to know is that Greta is thriving.” Tony says, standing and shuffling out from behind the couch. 

“Greta?” Steve looks at him, confusion knitting his eyebrows together. 

Tony gestures to their spider plant, the long, thin leaves soaking in the sunlight, happy as a clam on a stand in the corner. “_Greta_,” he repeats, like this should be obvious. 

“Right,” Steve smiles a little at Tony, because why wouldn’t he give the plant a name, and a human name like Greta, at that? Steve leans in and smiles into the kiss he presses to Tony’s lips. Nearly a decade together and he could still surprise him.

“She’s grown so much, and now we even have _Baby_ Greta…” Tony tilts his head toward the ledge by the kitchen sink, where there is in fact a clipping from the original plant growing in a small pot of its own. 

“Name to be determined,” Tony says, seriously, and Steve laughs. Tony had an affinity for plants lately, tending to them carefully, making sure not to water them too much or too little, changing their position in the house to maximize their exposure to the sun. 

Steve liked to joke that they’d be living in a greenhouse before they knew it, but it was sweet, and better yet, didn’t involve late hours in the lab or risking his life, so he couldn’t really complain. Not to mention, it was cute to see his husband so invested in something like this, fussing over the well-being of a plant. 

“Hansel?” Steve suggests.

“That’s Hansel and _Gretel_, Steven, come on, that story had to be around even back in your day,” Tony shakes his head in mock disappointment. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve raises his hands in apology. “So, what’s Greta got to do with whatever it is you’re about to tell me?” He asks. 

Before Tony can launch into the story he’d spent the afternoon devising, a small, excited _Yip!_ comes from behind him. Steve looks at him, blue eyes curious and amused, and raises a single eyebrow before walking around Tony and towards the sound. 

“Steve, listen —” 

But Tony’s argument dies on his lips when he realizes Steve is too busy cooing at the tiny, mixed-breed puppy he’d brought home from the shelter that afternoon. Tony had really just gone in to drop off a donation, but the little guy had escaped the volunteer’s arms and launched himself at Tony, nipping at his ankles and barking excitedly until he picked him up. The puppy had zero regard for Tony’s Tom Ford suit, pressing his wet nose into every spot he could reach before licking Tony’s face excitedly, like he was declaring them best friends on sight. Tony was a goner. No one could witness such a thing and leave without taking the dog home with them. He stopped at the pet store on his way home, picking up food, a little red and gold collar, and a huge dog bed. Tony figured he would grow into it. 

“Look at you! Who do we have here?” Steve’s normally soft, measured voice is higher now, full of affection as he takes the wiggling puppy from the bed Tony had tried to hide him in, letting him lick his face and sniff him to his heart’s content. “Oh, you’re such a good boy, aren’t you? Yes you are!” Steve is delighted, his whole face alight with affection. 

Tony is hardly able to keep the sappy smile from his face, watching them. He’d known Steve would look adorable holding the tiny thing in his huge super-soldier arms, but Tony was in danger of swooning. He also thought he’d have to do a lot more groveling before Steve gave in and accepted that they were ready for a dog, hence the Greta speech.

“I thought we were just making a donation,” Steve says eventually, glancing up with a playful look at his husband. 

“I really tried. Would you believe that he just about followed me out? Jumped right out of the volunteer’s arms and into mine. It was meant to be, Steve. Y’know, kinda like when you saw me for the first time.” Tony winks at him, and Steve has to laugh. It hadn’t been _exactly_ like that, but even Steve had to admit he and the dog had very similar taste when it came to Tony Stark. 

“So, maybe we can donate our hearts and our time, too,” Tony shrugs. There was no way Steve could say no to the wriggling bundle of energy currently flopped on his back by Steve’s feet. He leans over and rubs his belly, and Tony knows it’s a done deal. 

“Do you have a name in mind?” Steve asks after a minute. He turns his attention back to Tony and laughs when the puppy bats at his arm with a paw, as eager for Steve’s attention as Tony always is. 

“I was thinking… Toast,” Tony says, gesturing to his brown and black coat. 

“Toast?” Steve repeats incredulously. “The plant is named Greta and this guy gets _Toast?_”

“What! It’s fitting, he’s all black and brown and…” Tony shrugs. “Toasty.” 

The dog turns his head and waddles over to Tony, like he knows his own name, and Steve is sold. Tony is making kissing noises at the dog, rubbing his ears, and this time it’s Steve in danger of falling over at the sight of it Tony with the puppy. 

“Fine, Toast is kind of cute,” Steve says finally. “But I draw the line at bringing home a friend named Butter.”

Tony grins and considers this. “So you’re saying you want another one?”

“Tony…” Steve says, but he can’t get himself to stop smiling. His lips seem to have taken on a life of their own. 

“Kidding, of course, we’ll have our hands full as it is with Toast, Greta, the nameless wonder over there…” 

“It’s quite a family we’re assembling here,” Steve says. 

Tony’s eyes soften and he leans over to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek, one hand on Toast’s head. “Yeah, it’s really something,” he agrees, smiling. 


	60. That's My Whole World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7\. “It’s you and me, that’s my whole world.” 
> 
> Tony is uncertain about going a little gray.

Tony frowns into the mirror when he looks up from washing his face. It seemed like every day there was a new wrinkle around his eyes, or more gray hair appearing on his head. What was once a few streaks of gray at his temples now seemed to be taking over his whole head. It’s not that Tony was vain, or at least, that wasn’t the _whole_ problem. He liked to look nice, that was no secret. He spent an insane amount of money on shirts and ties, bought things like platinum cufflinks that he wore only once or twice a year. He and Steve had ripped through more obscenely expensive suits than he’d _ever_ admit to. The problem, the part that made Tony worry, probably adding yet more wrinkles to his collection in the process, was the expectation that he’d always look a certain way.

He was Tony Stark. Iron Man. Sure, he was retired now, and clearly getting older, living in an honest to god _farmhouse_ with Steve, but there were still appearances. Spotlights, interviews, photoshoots. _A Day at Home With Iron Man and Captain America_ type pieces, before which Tony would always drag himself to his hair stylist to dye his hair, or to his plastic surgeon for a botox injection. It had been fine, for a while. He started graying pretty young, and at that point he _had_ been vain enough for a monthly dye job to feel important. Now, though, he just wanted to relax. _Really_ relax.

Steve comes in as Tony is contemplating his reflection, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. They were going to a gala in a matter of hours, but Tony was still wearing jeans and a well-worn concert t-shirt, his glasses slipping down his nose, since he hadn’t bothered with his contacts just yet. His hair was a tousled mess, flecked with gray he hadn’t had a chance to have touched up this week, and his beard could probably do with a trim. He sighs into Steve’s hair.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, kissing his way up Tony’s neck before lifting his head to look at his husband of fifteen years. He sees the warring expressing on Tony’s face and squeezes his shoulder. “Seriously, what?”

Tony shrugs. “Do you think I look old?” He doesn’t want Steve to answer. He doesn’t want him to feel like he has to lie or make him feel better about it. Steve still looks nearly perfect, though his hair was a wreck from the walk they took earlier, and he had a pleasant amount of laugh lines these days.

“_Old?_” Steve repeats, then meets Tony’s eye in the mirror. He’s quiet for a minute. “You mean because of this?” He runs a hand through Tony’s hair, as soft and curly as ever. “I … like it,” Steve says honestly. “I never said anything, figured dying it or not was up to you but,” Steve shrugs a little. “Silver fox looks good on you.” He kisses him as if to prove his point.

God, Tony loves him. “I’m getting wrinkles, too,” Tony points out, making Steve laugh. 

“That’s just all those years of putting that genius brain to good use shining through,” Steve counters. Tony gives him a half smile. _Maybe_. 

“Does it bother _you?_” Steve asks.

“No. I mean, kind of, but just because even now, it feels like the whole world is always watching. I don’t want anyone _else_ calling me old, if that makes sense?” It was silly, to be this successful, this _happy and loved_ and still care what other people thought, Tony knows, but he couldn’t help it. 

Steve looks at him, eyes fond and as bright as ever. “I get it. I’ve always had a hard time with that, you know that better than anyone. But I think you should do whatever feels good for _you_. And I’m biased, but from where I’m standing? My whole world looks _incredible_.” He kisses Tony again before turning him around and pulling him in for a long, tight hug that said it all. 

_Whatever feels good._ Hm. 

That night, Tony spends less time getting ready than he had maybe ever. He still looks amazing, in a dark navy suit and matching pocket square, shining cufflinks, and Steve at his side. But he feels more like himself than ever, too. His hair is graying, and there might be more wrinkles as the days go by, but he was also happier, more fulfilled than he’d ever been before.

The next morning, Steve’s eyes sparkle as he scrolls through the headlines, stopping to show Tony. _Tony Stark Still Shines in Silver, _one of them proclaims. 

Steve makes a pleased little sound and turns to press a kiss to the crow’s feet by Tony’s right eye. “He sure does.”


	61. Sugar Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stony prompt for the first day they open their bakery to the public? And Steve or Tony bakes a cupcake and sitting on top of the cupcake in the frosting is an engagement ring?

“Think we’re ready for this?” Steve asks Tony when he emerges from the kitchen. He peers through the slats in the blinds at the front of the store and smiles when he sees Natasha, Bucky, Sam, and Rhodey already lined up outside their little shop. Steve had assumed he’d be the nervous one of the two of them, but Tony looks down right _green_. 

“I guess so,” he says now, wiping down the spotless counter and gazing around the room. The cake cases were full of beautiful cakes and cupcakes, the entire top shelf was stocked for the morning with danishes and muffins that looked as incredible as they smelled, and they’d done so many test runs they both know they could run a bakery in their sleep. All they had to do was flip the sign at the front of their brand new bakery, Sugar Daddy, from _Closed_ to _Open_ for the first time.

“We already have a line,” Steve smiles Tony, trying to ease the worry from his face, but instead it becomes even more pinched. 

“How is that possible?” Tony demands, taking a shaky breath. He increases the speed of his wiping, worrying at his bottom lip with his other hand. 

“Pretty sure that counter is immaculate. You might actually rub a hole into granite, which I’ve always assumed is impossible,” Steve points out. He crosses the room to Tony and rubs his shoulders reassuringly. “C’mon, we’ve done this a million times. You’re amazing. We’re going to be amazing. The line is just Rhodey and Nat,” Steve adds. “And maybe Bucky and Sam, but they’re so sickening when they’re together they basically just count as one being at this point,” Steve says, hoping for a laugh. 

Tony manages a chuckle, but his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Steve thinks fondly back to the first time Tony had baked for him. They were watching _The Great British Bake Off,_ and Steve made the mistake of saying that baking was an art form. Tony had immediately rattled off a litany of reasons why it was all _chemistry_ and very little actual skill, and proceeded to make some of the best brownies Steve had ever had. They would have been _the_ best ever, had he not been forced to eat them accompanied by a science lecture. 

From then on, Tony became the go-to person for all their friends and family baking needs: birthday cakes, gender reveal cakes, cookies for class parties, and even a wedding cake here and there. Tony _loved_ baking, it turned out. It relaxed him, and he was amazing at it. Steve as the one who first floated the idea of opening a bakery, to which Tony admitted he’d _always_ wanted that. 

They decided that Steve could do the books, decorate the space, and help Tony with icing their masterpieces, because he held firm in his belief that baking was at least _partially_ an art form. It had been years of planning and saving and working long nights on their dream, on top of their day jobs. There had been laughter, and fights, and a few tears along the way, and it was all coming down to this moment. 

Their bakery was finally real, and with it’s simple red, white, and blue decor, welcoming tables, and functional but comfortable chairs, it was an inviting space. Painting and decorating it had been the fun part. Now, all they had to do was fill it with people. The name, on the other hand, had been a … discussion, to say the least. Steve had suggested simpler, punny names, along the lines of “Stark’s Snacks,” “Holy Cannoli,” and Tony’s personal favorite: “Buns of Steel.” But Tony vetoed all of them, and somewhere along what felt like an endless journey, they’d landed on _Sugar Daddy. _

“Come on Steve, it’s _funny_,” Tony had insisted. 

“It’s _inappropriate! _We want families to come here!” 

“They’ll still come! Little kids don’t need to be in on the joke, just their parents. _Pleeease_.” 

Steve had eventually given in, and he was secretly glad for it. When the sign went up for the bakery, there were pictures posted everywhere, articles written, everyone amused by the name. It would bring in customers as they got their fledgling business off the ground, and that’s what mattered. 

Steve leans in and presses their lips together, soft and sugar sweet. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s do this,” he says, and Tony presses his face into Steve’s chest for a minute, nodding his agreement. It was time; they’d earned this moment.

Miraculously, people _came_. First it was just their friends, _oohing_ and _ahhing_ over everything coming together so wonderfully. They’d weighed in on some of the design, the menu, and had taken part in so many taste tests over the last few years that they deserved cupcakes on the house, which they of course refused. 

“We’re your customers now, Stevie,” Bucky had said, wiping icing from Sam’s lip and licking it off. “Just remember us when you’re on the Food Network or whatever getting famous.” Steve and Tony promised they would, both unable to stop smiling. 

The rest of the day brought a steady stream of customers, everyone exclaiming over how pretty the cakes were, how delicious the cookies and danishes tasted, telling them how the city had needed a local, homey bakery like this for years. Every time, Tony would meet Steve’s eyes and beam at him. Their dream had finally come true, and they’d built something _amazing_ together. 

When the last customer had come and gone, promising to leave them a nice review on Facebook, Tony and Steve sighed, tired and happy. Steve was ready to call it a day and lead them home when Tony asked if he minded running into the back one more time. 

“There should be one more thing back there, sweetheart, can you check?” Tony asks lightly. His eyes were shining, and Steve was sure that once he got over his initial nervousness that morning, the smile hadn’t left Tony’s face all day.

Steve agrees, and walks through the swinging metal doors that led to the kitchen, where he stops in his tracks. There _was_ one more thing sitting back there: a single cupcake, simple, with vanilla frosting, and Steve knew without peeling back the paper that it was a red velvet cupcake, his favorite kind. On top sat a ring, a gleaming silver band, and Steve whirls around only to find Tony on one knee before him.

Steve gapes at him. Here, he’d thought there was no way today could be happier or more memorable, and Tony had of course, managed to surprise him. He feels tears prick the back of his eyes as Tony starts talking. 

“Oh good, you found it,” Tony says with a smile. For how nervous he’d been this morning, Tony looks more sure than Steve had ever seen him. 

Steve laughs and nods and Tony continues on.

“Steve. Steven. God, I had a whole thing ready in my head but after today, I just… might go off script, okay? I just want to say… I love you. Thank you for believing in me when no one else did. Thank you for not just helping me make my dream come true, but for taking part in it, making it our dream. You’ve stood by me through some of the longest days and nights, and coming home to you always made the hardest days better. You make every day sweeter, and I’d be lost without you, but you already know that. You keep me going, and I hope you’ll give me the chance to do the same for you. Forever.” Tony gets to his feet and takes Steve’s hands in his. “Steve, will you marry me?”

There’s no hiding the tears in Steve’s eyes now, but he manages to nod, winding his arms around Tony and kissing him, murmuring _yes_ into his lips countless times. When they finally catch their breath, both beaming, Tony reaches around and grabs the ring from the cupcake, and Steve licks the icing off before Tony puts it on his finger. 

They admire it all, the ring, the day, each other, every moment sweeter than the last. Tony leans in and kisses the icing from Steve’s lips. _Sweet_ was starting to feel like an understatement.


	62. bring your love to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a no powers au with a rich, older, art gallery owner Steve and MIT graduate Tony going on a date and figuring out what they want. <3

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Tony admits suddenly, before he can think twice about it. Steve had just paid the check, reaching over to place a warm hand on Tony’s arm when he reached for his wallet and murmuring _let me_ before smoothly pulling his own wallet out of his pocket, and sliding a card into the small leather booklet. He’d barely glanced at the total, Tony couldn’t help but notice. In a restaurant where it was nearly twenty dollars for a tiny plate of _fries_, Tony can’t imagine having that kind of money, that level of surety that his card wouldn’t be declined.

Steve was only a few years older than he was, but seemed so much more… adult than Tony ever felt. So established. Steve ran a gallery in the city, selling what looked like children’s artwork to rich people who paid thousands of dollars a piece. Tony had made sure he had enough in his account to cover dinner this time, figuring that by their fifth date, Steve would finally let him pay, though apparently that wasn’t the case. He was quietly relieved. Tony had only recently graduated with a PhD from MIT, scraping by to make ends meet while he served coffee and applied for jobs at companies he longed to work for full-time. He never imagined the hot, scruffy, hip guy who came into the Starbucks he worked at would _actually_ ask him out. Tony had dreamed about it, of course, an embarrassing number of nights in bed, alone with his thoughts, and when it happened he’d had to brace himself against the counter, sure the blood rushing through his ears meant he was on the verge of fainting. 

He’d gotten to know Steve slowly, over meals he never could have afforded, at small, hidden gem restaurants where Steve always seemed to know someone, greeting them warmly and asking after kids and grandkids. He was sweet, Tony knew this from his many coffee shop visits, but this was somehow more. 

Steve raises an eyebrow, playfully. “No?” he asks, draining the last of his beer and studying Tony, trying to discern what he meant by the request. Though, Tony didn’t really know himself, he didn’t want to be presumptuous. Steve had walked him home the last few times, had kissed him with a heated expertise Tony hadn’t experienced before. He longed for more but he didn’t want to _ask_ for more; this was his constant struggle when it came to, well… most things he wanted.

“What would you like to do?” Steve asks, and Tony still doesn’t have an answer, so he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. 

“I could go for ice cream,” he says, though it comes out like more of a question. “There’s a place by my apartment,” he adds, more sure of himself this time. 

The thought of bringing Steve to the same ice cream stand he’d been going to his whole life made him feel dizzy, and a little exhilarated. He’d gone there after his prom. After bombing and acing tests. He’d brought countless dates there, and had cried into an ice cream cone after one of his more brutal fights with his father, before they’d severed ties completely. It was just ice cream, but it was like showing Steve a side of himself that he usually kept tucked in close. He swallows nervously.

Steve smiles at him over the table, eyes crinkling, and squeezes Tony’s hand as the waiter comes back to their table, returning his card. Steve thanks him.

“I can do ice cream,” he agrees. “A little sweet, a little bad for you, what’s not to love?” He sounds almost suggestive when he says it, his eyebrows raised a little, and Tony meets his eyes just briefly before focusing on a spot above his forehead. He can feel his face flushing. Seriously, what was he getting himself into here? Steve was rich, and kind, and _smart_, and Tony couldn’t land a job even with a PhD in mechanical engineering, didn’t speak to his family, and was so hung up on him in such a short period of time that he was positive he was minutes away from scaring him off. 

But Steve didn’t look scared off when he stood and helped Tony into his jacket, taking his hand as they walked out into the brisk fall evening. Steve didn’t look scared when he kissed the minty, chocolatey taste from Tony’s lips, or when he fed Tony a bite of strawberry from his spoon. He certainly looked unfazed when he tossed their empty cups and napkins into the trash and turned his gaze to Tony in the driver’s seat, and asked, “Still don’t want to go home?” in a low, husky tone Tony hadn’t heard him use before. His stomach flips and he shakes his head no, ready to follow wherever Steve leads. 

They wind up back at Steve’s apartment. Tony hadn’t been there yet, and it was more subdued than he’d imagined. There was art on the walls, and a gorgeous view of the city, but it looked lived in. Tony realizes he probably had a very sitcom idea of what a wealthy apartment actually looked like, but still: Steve had made himself a home in this apartment, and Tony relished the idea of getting to see it. He Imagines himself coming here after a long day in a lab somewhere, falling into Steve’s arms and into his bed, long nights on the couch, laughing. It’s intoxicating, not unlike the look that crosses Steve’s face when he catches Tony lost in his little daydream. 

“What do you think?” Steve asks. “Good enough to stay awhile?” 

Tony swallows. “Yeah it’s… it’s,” he hunts for a word that won’t make him sound as inexperienced as he suddenly feels. “Way nicer than my apartment.” It’s honest, if nothing else. 

“You’ll get there,” Steve tells him, sounding more sure about it than Tony had ever felt. 

“A Starbucks salary will hardly do it, and since no one else seems to want to hire me…” Tony doesn’t want the night to end with him feeling sorry for himself, but it was true. 

“They will. I was thinking… I know someone who works for this security firm. Looking to expand, grow the tech side of things, and they need someone who can think out of the box. Bring them into this century. I hope it’s okay, but I gave them your name. He’ll have to go through the interview process with you of course, but I couldn’t help it…” Steve looks almost apologetic, and Tony’s torn between screaming his thanks and jumping into his arms. He chooses the latter, trying to remain calm as he thanks Steve at least ten times.

“Really. You have no idea how much that helps,” Tony says again, leaning in and kissing him deeply. 

Steve’s eyes seem to darken as he smiles and takes Tony’s hand, leading him to his room. It was dark save for a dim bedside light, with deep blue walls and yet more art adorning them. Tony hardly has a chance to take it all in though, when Steve pulls him in close for a searing kiss, and Tony feels himself melting into him. Steve’s everywhere, his hands in Tony’s hair and pulling at his shirt, lips tasting the skin at his collarbone, all of it just rough enough to make Tony’s heart jackrabbit in his chest, his body heating with sheer want.

They ease onto Steve’s bed, soft as a cloud and perfect, and any remaining anxiety Tony had about the two of them dissipates as Steve’s mouth finds the shell of Tony’s ear, kissing it softly. “This okay?” he asks, and god it’s so much better than _okay,_ all Tony can do is nod into him, capturing Steve’s lips with his, and letting their hands and mouths do the rest. 

“So,” Steve says, much later, once they’ve caught their breath and were enjoying a slow exchange of lazy kisses. Tony turns his head and his heart nearly stops at the sight of Steve with his hair a mess, lips red and puffy from where Tony kissed them, a smile pulling up the corner of his mouth. Tony takes a breath and kisses him once more, quickly, before he can say anything else.

“So,” Tony repeats, almost nervous for where this is going, because the night had been nearly too good to be true. _Steve_ felt too good to be true. 

“Can I…” Steve starts, but then corrects himself. “Did you have a good time tonight? And the other nights? I mean, can we do this again?” Steve is the nervous one now, and it looks _way_ too endearing on him. “…Regularly?”

Tony would have laughed had it not been for the slight crease between Steve’s eyebrows. 

“Sorry if it’s too soon I just… don’t date a lot,” Steve confides. “And I really like you.”

“No, it’s not too soon. Actually… I thought it was just me, that I was crazy for wanting so…much so soon. I had a great time,” Tony tells him seriously. “Ten out of ten, would date again. Promise it’s not just for this amazing bed. Which _is_ amazing, by the way. Or the job recommendation. Or that _thing_ you kept doing with your tongue…” Tony trails off. It’s partly all of those reasons, but it’s so much more, too. 

Steve hums happily and kisses Tony again, slower, not asking for more. “Good,” is all he manages before Tony curls himself into his chest and burrows into him, the most at ease he’s been in ages. 

_Good indeed. _


	63. First Day of Kindergarten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt where Steve is stressing about becoming a stepdad to Peter, or them talking about Steve adopting Peter a few years in, tony obvs finds it adorable.
> 
> Peter’s first day of kindergarten sparks a lot of emotions and conversations between Steve and Tony

Peter’s first day of kindergarten is an emotional affair, despite all the mental preparation Tony has been doing for the duration of the summer. He couldn’t believe his son was six years old and getting ready to get on a school bus taking him out of Tony’s arms and into the big, wide world of the local elementary school. 

“Sweetheart, Peter’s smart as a whip, and just about the friendliest kid there is, he’s going to be fine,” Steve reassures him the night before Peter’s first day. They’d packed his backpack with everything on his mile-long list of school supplies, and there was a brand new lunch box waiting to be filled on the counter, all signs that summer was really ending, and Peter was going off to a full day of kindergarten. He’d had half-day pre-school last year, but that was different; this felt _huge_.

“I know that,” Tony groans. “_He’ll_ be fine, that’s not what I’m worried about,” he admits.

“Ah, I see. You’re worried I’ll miss him too much. I get it, we’re permanently bonded now, I think. He shared his fruit snacks with me the other day, split them sixty forty, a new record,” Steve grins at Tony, who swats at him, then buries his face against Steve’s shoulder. He made everything better, simpler, somehow. Nearly four years together and Tony still wasn’t sure how he did it. 

“I know it’s hard,” Steve says seriously, once Tony’s settled. “It’s a big first step! But now instead of living all his adventures with him, you get to hear all about them as soon as he gets home. You’re his best listener, and you know he’ll be bursting at the seams with all his news.”

How did Steve always know exactly what to say? To his embarrassment, Tony’s eyes burn with the threat of tears at his words. He was right, and Peter would have an amazing day, out in the world without him. Tony couldn’t wait to hear about it.

“Want me to walk to the bus stop with you in the morning?” Steve asks, even though of course Tony wanted him to come. He was so careful, even now, not to tread on Tony’s relationship with Peter. He never pushed, always asked first. Tony loved him for it. 

“Of course you’re coming, I think Peter might actually refuse to go unless you’re with us,” Tony says, turning to smile at him. “Though maybe you should stay back in that case…” Tony laughs. 

“You’ll both be great. You can cry on my shoulder as soon as the bus pulls away,” Steve promises. 

When morning rolls around, Peter bounces around the house, a three-foot tall ball of unstoppable energy, and Tony is the most on edge he’s been since his first date with Steve. When Peter drains the last of the milk from his bowl of cereal, Tony leans over and swipes a napkin across his face. 

“All set, Pete?” Tony asks. He looks at the clock on the stove: the bus would be pulling up in twenty minutes, and they had to walk two blocks to his stop, leaving just enough time for goodbyes.

“Yeah! Let’s go Daddy!” Peter yelps. “Come on Steve!”

They help him get his backpack on, double check that his lunchbox is zipped and his hair is brushed into place, then head out the door. Peter’s tucked in between them, holding each of their hands and leaping down the front steps, and Tony suddenly wishes he could freeze-frame the moment, every bit of it, from Peter’s smiling face, Steve’s confident gait, to his own nervous excitement for his son. He settles for a picture on the front lawn instead. 

It’s a quick walk to the bus stop, and before Tony knows it, the bus is pulling up and Peter is hugging him tightly, telling him that he’d been home soon. Tony has to swallow around the lump in his throat as he lets him go, watching as Peter runs up the steps of the bus and sits next to a little girl in pigtails, talking excitedly. He really would be fine.

“You did great,” Steve says, squeezing his hand as they turn and head back to the house.

Tony smiles weakly at him. “I believe you promised a shoulder to cry on?” 

By the time two o’clock rolls around, Tony is all but waiting by the front door, ready to walk to the bus stop once again and get Peter. Time had moved surprisingly quickly all afternoon, but once he realized it, it seemed to slow down almost immediately. Steve had gone to work, promising to come over for dinner later and hear all about Peter’s first day. 

When the bus pulls around the corner, Tony can see Peter’s face in the window, waving at him excitedly. He was apparently as happy to be home as Tony was to _have_ him home. He comes skipping off of the bus and launches himself at Tony, hugging him tightly when Tony crouches down to him. 

“Daddy! I went to school today! Miss Natasha is so _nice_ and I met Freddy and guess what? He has two moms! And I drew a picture, and I have to show you my folder! Wait, where’s Steve? And I met Meredith on the bus this morning, she was so so funny. The bus is fun, Daddy, did you take the bus to school when you were a little kid?” Peter hardly takes a breath the whole way home, and Tony asks questions where he can, his heart full to bursting at the joy on Peter’s face. 

Steve joins them in the kitchen after work, his face lighting up when he sees Tony and Peter setting the table together. 

“What’s happening Squirt? How was your first day?” He asks. 

“It was so much fun Daddy!” Peter exclaims, and then, almost immediately, realizes his mistake and looks first at the floor and then between Tony and Steve, his face chagrined. 

“I mean…” Peter trails off. “Sorry, Steve,” he says in such a small voice that Tony wants to hug him. 

“That’s alright Pete, you know I love you, I don’t mind,” Steve reassures him. He gives him a squeeze around the shoulders, and Tony can see that his own face is flushed, though he’s still smiling. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Peter says to Tony this time, like his slip up might have hurt his feelings. 

“Don’t be sorry! You’re excited, and Steve is… well, he’s…” Tony is suddenly at a loss for words. He’d been around for exactly half of Peter’s life. Nearly all of his memories included both Tony _and_ Steve. He was Tony’s other half, the best part of his day, and there was no one he’d rather have at his side raising Peter. Warmth fills him at the thought.

“Is Steve my daddy too?” Peter asks, his face scrunching up, perplexed. “Because Freddy has two moms, so I can have two daddies, right?” 

Tony watches Steve’s face soften completely, his eyes bright and shining. For as stoic and upbeat as Steve had been that morning, he was certainly at risk of welling up just now. Tony wraps his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him in against his side. They look at each other and Tony nods at Steve, a quick, silent conversation. It seems almost obvious, now that they were talking about it. 

Steve smiles at Peter. “I could… be your daddy too, someday, if you both want that,” he says lightly. 

“Really?!” Peter beams up at them. 

Tony squeezes Steve’s waist, smiling over at him. “I love you. We love you, right kiddo?”

“Yes!” Peter is overwhelmed by this new development. 

“It might take awhile to make it official, at least on paper. We’re not married… yet,” Tony winks at Steve. “And he would have to adopt you, but you can call him Steve, or Daddy, or whatever you want, it’s really up to you. And Steve, of course,” he adds.

“You can,” Steve agrees, and his eyes are definitely misty at this point. 

“Two daddies!” Peter exclaims. “But wait,” he pauses, his small face suddenly serious. “You _already_ adopted me,” he says to Tony. 

“I did, but Steve can too, and that would just make it official, what we have going here,” Tony explains. 

Peter nods sagely. 

“We’ve come a long way, Peter,” Steve says. “Remember when you didn’t want Daddy hanging around with me, way back when?”

Peter shakes his head. “That’s when I was a _little kid_,” he explains. “And I didn’t know you yet!”

Tony looks at Steve and fights the urge to laugh; his son had all the wisdom one day of kindergarten had to offer. 

“That’s fair,” Steve says, moving in and scooping Peter up into a hug. Tony goes to join them, wrapping his arms around his little family. Because they’ve been a family for a long time now, it just took Peter to put things in perspective for them. 

In bed that night, Tony turns to Steve. “Sorry if that came out of nowhere earlier. Probably should’ve been a bigger conversation, I just…” 

Steve stops him, brushing his lips against Tony’s. “Please don’t apologize. I’ve never been happier. There’s a lot to figure out but this is everything… _more than_ I could have hoped for when I found a misplaced kid in the grocery store. Getting to be with you, and watching Peter grow up, having an unofficial family? I love you, Tony,” he says, smiling up at Tony through his impossibly long lashes. There’s a good chance they both have tears in their eyes this time. 

“I love you too,” Tony tells him. Because he does, and he has a lot of work to do. He has a proposal to plan, after all.


	64. Bad Day Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt!!! steve having just the shittiest day, and steve being there to make him feel better

When Steve gets home, his head is pounding, his stomach is growling, and he’s in what feels like the world’s worst mood. It had been one of those days that started fifteen minutes late, and only got worse from there. He’d somehow managed to forget to set his alarm, something he _never_ did, and got to the compound nearly two hours late after sitting in traffic forever. The new team was coming along, but it seemed like his off day was contagious; the new recruits were all over the place in nearly every session. Steve found himself rolling his eyes and biting back comments harsher than he’d ever normally give, though he mostly blamed this on the coffee pot that seemed to be perpetually empty.

When the day finally ends, Steve is inwardly groaning. It was only Monday, and even though Tony loved to remind him that he could make his own schedule, Steve usually liked the routine of working through the week, and enjoying the weekends with Tony. Until days like today, of course, where he wanted nothing more than take out food and a night on the couch with his husband. 

Tony’s at the sink when Steve gets in, and he drops his bag on a nearby chair, moving swiftly through the room and wrapping both arms around Tony’s waist, burying his face in the softness of Tony’s hair and breathing deeply. Nothing felt more like coming home than this. 

“Hello to you too,” Tony says lightly, turning in Steve’s arms to fix him with a kiss and a smile before raising an eyebrow. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks, because he knows, somehow, just by the look in Steve’s eyes, that today was one of those days. The kind where everything that could go wrong _did_ go wrong. 

“Not really,” Steve mumbles, nosing along the soft, downy hair at the nape of Tony’s neck and down to his jawline. “Can we just…” He doesn’t finish the thought, just picks Tony up where he stands and carries him to the living room, where they flop down onto the couch in a huff, landing in a tangle of limbs.

“Look soldier boy, we talked about this, you can’t just _hoist me off_…” Tony says mock indignantly. “My hands were wet!” He demonstrates by wiping them on Steve’s shoulders in protest. Steve just makes a sound into Tony’s collarbone, wraps his arms around Tony tightly, then flips them around so that Tony is lying comfortably on Steve’s chest, still enveloped in his arms. Steve gives a long, slow sigh of contentment. He was like an octopus, glomming onto Tony with every piece of him, letting Tony’s comforting warmth seep into him and wash away the stress of the long, terrible day. 

“Mm, sorry, I’ll remember that for next time,” Steve promises, though he’s smiling as he says it. Tony wiggles himself in Steve’s arms enough to press a kiss to his shoulder, the first spot he can reach. 

“Your day was that good, hm?” Tony murmurs. “Anything I can do? Order dinner? Make some tea? Something _stronger_ than tea? I can try and track down what’s left of Thor’s mead,” Tony lifts an eyebrow playfully. He’d only seen Steve drink the stuff once and it had been an experience, to say the least.

Steve laughs softly. “Nah, think this was all I needed.” He hugs Tony closer as he talks. “I should’ve just stayed in bed when I realized I overslept, though” Steve admits. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m home now. Chinese food might be good though…” 

“I can do that,” Tony agrees.

“Let’s just stay like this for now?” Steve asks. “Sorry I manhandled you over here,” he adds.

“As you should be, it’s a real hardship being held here like this against my will,” Tony laughs and leans up to kiss Steve, a real one this time. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to forgive me in time,” Steve murmurs into his lips, the weight of the day slipping away.


	65. Stay In Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning. No, don’t get up, it’s raining, let’s stay in bed a little longer…”

Tony never understood it, before Steve. The way people would talk about being so in love with someone that they could do simple things like watch them sleep, and somehow fall more in love with them. Tony had _been_ in love, at least he thought he had, and he’d never felt anything like that. When morning came, he either pulled a pillow over his head and went back to sleep, ignoring the shrill of his alarm, or he got up and got to work. Laying around in bed to watch Pepper or any of his past significant others sleep was… not something that ever crossed his mind, really. He figured he was wired differently, showed his love in other ways, and that was fine. After all, what did it matter if he liked watching someone sleep or not?

It didn’t. 

At least, that’s what he thought until he met Steve, which is when he started to wonder if maybe all those sappy, love-struck people were onto something after all. Because after years of wondering what the fuss was about, Tony found that he could probably watch Steve Rogers sleep for hours, if given the chance. For as easily bored he often was, Tony could lose track of time just watching the easy rise and fall of Steve’s chest beside him. If he was an artist like Steve, he’d fill piles of notebooks with Steve’s relaxed, sleeping face. He looked lovely, young and completely at ease as he lay there. He was so young, so perfect. And _his_. It still made Tony’s breath catch in his throat some mornings.

Now, the room is dark; it was just before dawn, and rain was pattering at the windows. Once again, Tony found himself in no hurry to get out of bed. Steve was still asleep, his breathing even, his hair all over the place. No one would ever know what it took to keep that perfect Captain America hair in place, but Tony did. He’d seen Steve with bedhead no one could ever imagine, and it was _too_ endearing, really. It wasn’t fair, for him to walk around with his hair sticking up, his eyes still thick with sleep, and look that perfect. 

Now, Steve stirs at Tony’s touch, and smiles over at him as he slowly blinks himself awake. “Hey, you,” he says quietly, drawing Tony in close beside him. Tony feels himself melting into the touch; he hadn’t been trying to wake his boyfriend, but he wasn’t complaining how that he was awake, either.

“Good morning,” Tony says, leaning up and brushing a kiss to Steve’s cheek. They lay there like that for a few minutes before Steve breaks the silence.

“Coffee time?” Steve asks, because that’s usually how it goes on Saturday mornings: coffee in bed, or at a diner, or a walk to the coffee shop if it was nice out. Today, though, with the rain falling in sheets outside, and the bed so warm around them, Tony has no desire for coffee, which was, without a doubt, a first. 

“Mmph.” Tony groans tiredly into his pillow and stretches a little, huffing a laugh when Steve runs a hand over his stomach as his shirt rides up. “No, don’t get up, it’s raining, let’s just stay in bed a little longer,” Tony murmurs. He wraps his arms around Steve tightly, like he might try and make a break for it. Instead, he feels Steve press his face into Tony’s hair and nod.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Coffee can wait; I’m not going anywhere.” He hugs Tony to him.

With the sound of the rain, and Steve’s strong arms around him, Tony had no plans on going anywhere anytime soon, either. 

It’s not long before they drift back to sleep.


	66. Mafia AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mob boss! Steve and kidnapped Tony.

Steve never meant for Tony to find out. Then again, he never really meant to get so far in himself. 

Then Tony got kidnapped, and it all went to shit.

For a man who prided himself on being organized, on his ability to prevent things from slipping through the cracks, Steve had to admit that his life was unraveling before his eyes, and it was entirely his own fault. 

The problem was that Steve was a planner, and he never planned on Tony Stark. Brilliant, kind, gorgeous Tony, who only knew Steve the painter, an artist who worked tirelessly to make a name for himself and his art, who taught sick kids to draw every other weekend. Steve hadn’t planned to lie about those things, either, but Tony caught him on a rough night, a brutal deal gone so awry that Steve had to step in. He was nursing a black eye and gruesome bruises at a dive bar in Brooklyn, alone at the corner of the bar, where the bartender largely left him alone unless he was refilling his glass. 

Most people had some idea who Steve was, at least in this neighborhood, but Tony hadn’t. He was an engineer from Manhattan, and so far removed from the world of organized crime that it was refreshing. Tony had made some quippy, forward remark about kissing Steve better, and he’d laughed, really laughed for the first time in forever. Tony was charming, and Steve found himself desperate to be the kind of guy who deserves someone like that. The lie had slipped from his lips easily; it’s what he did, after all. 

After that, for a year now, those lies just kept coming. He spun a careful web of omissions and half-truths and hated himself for it every time. But Tony was so… soft, and _sweet_ and his, that Steve thought maybe he could have both. Two separate lives: Steve the Boss, who planned and orchestrated major art thefts, and Tony’s Steve, who did his own work and was great with kids and walked to brunch in the city holding his boyfriend’s hand so carefully it felt like nothing could ever hurt them.

If this was anyone else, had anyone dared speak about their feelings in such an openly vulnerable way, Steve would have told them to get their head out of their ass and ditch the guy. He would’ve offered to do it for them. He should have taken his own advice, he knows that now. 

When Steve finds out Tony had been taken, it feels like every part of him goes ice cold, then bursts into flame. He’s seeing red, because how _dare_ anyone do this, take his one good thing. The only person he had who knew the Steve he wanted to be rather than the criminal he’d become. The one person who loved him, who trusted him implicitly, and… who didn’t know Steve at all. 

It doesn’t take Steve long to find Tony, tied up in an abandoned warehouse that was dark and musty with disuse. He kicks the door in, gun in hand, and storms into the room. The sniveling kid in charge of keeping an eye on Tony was clearly not expecting Steve Rogers himself to show up, and he backs away slowly, then flees the room entirely as Steve shifts the gun. He was only going to put it away, but it gets the job done. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve says. He hardly recognizes his own voice, and he hates the way terrified way Tony’s looking between him and the gun, like Steve was someone he didn’t recognize. His face is bloody, but he’s in tact. They hadn’t wanted to hurt Tony too badly, that much was clear. This was just a message, letting Steve know that he’d been found out. That he had something to lose. 

Steve brings a hand to Tony’s forehead, wanting to wipe the matted hair from his face, to comfort him any way he could before he took him home, and his heart breaks when Tony flinches away like he’d been burned.

“Steve, I… you’re…” He stares at him, clearly trying to piece together how Steve his painter boyfriend and the man standing before him now could possibly be the same guy. _I am that person_, Steve longs to tell him. 

“I’m so sorry, Tony. I never, ever meant for you to get hurt. I didn’t think… I thought I could have it all.”

“Steve, you’re holding a gun, you came in here and kicked the door down. Would you have killed that guy?” Tony demands. He’s shaking, and Steve balls his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out to him again. 

“If they’d hurt you even worse? I can’t say no, Tony,” Steve admits. The honesty feels good, like a breath of fresh air. 

“That night, in the bar. The night we met you said… You said you stopped a mugging, but you were _part_ of something even then. _All of this_ has been a lie,” Tony realizes at once, and the pained look on his face nearly takes Steve’s breath away. Tony looks devastated, and he has every right to be. Steve had been lying to him since the night they met. He was selfish, and that selfishness had gotten Tony kidnapped, beaten, and it had ruined any shot at happiness he might have had.

_Tactician. Meticulous. Strategist._ Those were all words associated with Steve Rogers, so how had he managed to fuck this up so royally? 

“Tony please, I’m so sorry. That night I was…in a bad place. I went out not expecting anything more than a hangover in the morning and instead I met you and I just… I wanted to be a better person, so I created one, and that meant I got to keep you, and after a while, well, it’s not like I didn’t _want_ to tell you. By the time I realized I loved you it was too late. I never wanted to put you in danger,” Steve pleads. Steve Rogers didn’t plead, not ever, but for this? For Tony, he would do whatever it takes.

Steve dares to reach a hand out again, and this time Tony doesn’t flinch away when Steve takes his hand. 

“This is fucked up, you do know that, right?” Tony asks, breath catching in his throat. 

Steve squeezes his hand. “I know, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes again.

“I just… how can you be _this?_ I’ve seen you paint, I know that’s not a total lie. I’ve seen you with kids. I mean you’re so… _kind_. Maybe it’s the blood loss, or maybe the blunt force smack to my head shook out my common sense, but I do want to know you. The real you,” Tony adds with a glare. 

Relief sweeps through Steve with a force that threatens to bowl him over. “You do? I mean, if you wanted to leave, I would,” Steve swallows hard. “I would hate myself, and I would miss you like crazy, but I would understand.”

Tony looks at Steve, really looks at him, and Steve can see his mind at work, processing. Steve can see his face soften almost imperceptibly. “The Steve Rogers I know and love is a good person. I see it, even now,” Tony tells him. 

“I love you, so much, and I know I’m sounding like a broken record here, but I am so sorry, Tony. I should have just told you.”

Tony snorts. “What a meet cute that would’ve been. Hi, I’m Steve, and I’m a … what are you exactly, anyway? A gangster or something?”

Steve winces. “Actually I’m… kind of the boss.”

Tony’s eyes widen and he gives a surprised yelp. “Christ, Steve,” is all he says. “You’re going to tell me all about this, I’m holding you to it, but for now, can you _please_ get me out of this?” Tony nods to the chair he’s still tied to.

Steve springs into action, his eyes narrowing as he unties Tony and lifts him up and into his arms bridal style, like he weighs nothing. “I _will_ hurt whoever did this to you,” he grits out. Tony shifts in Steve’s arms, and looks briefly like he’s going to argue, tell Steve he can walk, but he seems to bite his tongue.

“You’re a real tough guy, I get it. But please, avenge later, home now,” Tony says. Then he seems to realize something. “Bet your lackeys or whatever have no idea that _this_ is all it really takes to have their wicked way with you,” Tony says as he leans up in Steve’s arms and kisses softly along Steve’s jawline, finishing with a warm press of lips to Steve’s ear. 

Steve shivers and gives a pleased little sigh that would be completely embarrassing in front of anyone else, then gives Tony a look. 

“They certainly do not,” he says.

Tony makes a thoughtful sound at this, and Steve can see his brain working. 

“Tony, whatever you’re plotting here, please don’t.” He’s smirking a little as he admonishes him, though. “You’re right, let’s just get you home and cleaned up and in bed. Let me spoil you a little this weekend, yeah?” Steve says. “We have a lot of catching up to do, anyway.”

“No promises. You did have a secret identity, one that I still need to hear all about, for over a year, Steven,” Tony says. His voice is lower now, weaker as the events of the day start to settle in and exhaustion hits him full force. Steve tightens his arms around him and nods.

“Fair. You know that no matter what I do here, I love you, right? That hasn’t changed. That’s why I did what I did, why I could never tell you the truth. Knowing I could come home to you and be someone good, knowing that you love me, those things get me through the day.” 

Tony ducks his head into Steve’s shoulder. “I know,” he murmurs. “Total softie,” he adds.

Steve carries Tony all the way to his apartment, shooting murderous looks at anyone who dares to look at them. They had a long road ahead of them, but Steve can’t help but think that despite all the wrongs he’s done, he still had Tony, which meant he’d done at least one thing exactly right. 


	67. Jekyll in Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Civilian AU where Steve lives in the apartment above Tony. Tony owns a cat. This cat absolutely hates people. Especially guys. No one knows why. One day he escapes from Tony’s apartment and goes to see Steve, purring and going absolutely crazy with friendliness. Cue instant fluffy Stony
> 
> In which Tony’s truly unfriendly cat goes missing and finds Steve, who he shockingly adores.

Tony runs both hands through his hair and huffs out a sigh. He’d turned his apartment nearly upside down, and he was going to have to face facts: Jekyll was missing. Tony spent his afternoon searching through his rumpled, unmade bed, on top of the kitchen cabinets, even in the back of his closet, where the mischievous black cat liked to sleep sometimes just to mess with him, but he was nowhere to be found. 

_Shit._

This meant he’d managed to get out during the few minutes Tony spent lugging groceries up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, and was now _out there_, at large. Prowling the apartment building somewhere, terrorizing his neighbors. Tony could have _sworn_ he’d pulled the door shut tightly behind him for exactly this reason. It wouldn’t be so bad if he had a normal cat, but Jekyll had taken to Tony and _only_ Tony. He hated every person Tony introduced him to on sight. Even Rhodey, and everyone liked Rhodey, sometimes even better than Tony. At best, the cat would glare and ignore people, but at worst, he’d hiss and pounce, his hair standing up on his back as he swatted at them. Tony thinks about any of his older neighbors coming across him on their way downstairs, confronted with his hellcat and unable to pick him up or find his owner, calling a shelter, or worse, animal control. That would make it nearly impossible to track him down and bring him home, and what would Tony do then, without him?

He gulps air into his lungs, trying to push all his worst case scenarios out of his head. Maybe the cat was just outside the door, waiting disdainfully for Tony to let him back in. He races to the door, flinging it open, but his face falls when there’s no sign of him. Tony curses under his breath and stomps back to his room in search of his shoes. His place was a wreck, and he promises that once he finds Jekyll, he’d be more organized, make it a more livable space for both of them. As long as he’s okay.

Tony decides to start on his floor, then work his way up. Jekyll couldn’t have gotten far so quickly. 

By the time Tony reaches the end of his hallway, knocking on every door and peering into the utility closets and garbage chutes, he feels more grim than ever. With every shake of someone’s head, every promise to let him know if they see a black cat out and about, Tony feels more certain Jekyll is gone for good. 

_Oh, I’m sure I’ll know by the screams, _Tony doesn’t say as he scribbles down his number for a kind woman at the end of the hall. Instead, he thanks her for her time and her help and goes on his way. 

He’s about halfway through the fourth floor when a door opens just as he’s lifting his hand to knock. Tony is immediately confronted by two things that threaten to bowl him over. First, this apartment belongs to the hot guy he occasionally sees coming back from a run, or in the laundry room. He made Tony consider taking up running just to follow him out the door in the morning, and Tony _hated_ running. And mornings. Second, and most importantly, Hot Guy is _holding his cat_. And not just holding him, stroking Jekyll’s head absently like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Surprise flashes over his face as he nearly collides into Tony. 

“Oh,” he says. “Hi?” Hot Guys Holding His Cat flashes Tony a smile that leaves him stammering.

“Uh, hi. I’m… I live downstairs and I was looking for him,” he says, pointing at Jekyll, who glares at him, swishing his tail. He’s actually purring, in the arms of a stranger. Tony goggles at them, but he’s gotta admit, he’d be purring too, if he was being held in those perfectly muscled arms… 

“I was just coming to find you!” Steve declares, like this is the most wonderful coincidence. “You live right below me, right? I’ve seen this guy out on your balcony a few times, figured he must’ve gotten confused on his way home.”

Confused. Right. Tony clears his throat. “How did you… I mean, thank you, first of all. I’ve been looking for him all day. But how did you catch him? He hates people. Like, everyone. He’s an absolute demon with strangers.” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “This cat hates people? I found him asleep in my laundry basket when I went to switch loads,” he explains. “He let me pick him up, pet him, whatever, but seemed to really love the warm clothes, so that’s where he’s been. He did come out when he smelled the chicken I made for lunch. I gave him a little bite, I hope that’s okay?” Hot Guy gives him a hopeful little smile. “I came to find you earlier but you weren’t home.”

“That… I mean, that’s perfect, yeah, golden. But you should be absolutely covered in scratches by now, probably running for your life. That’s why I was so worried. I’d say this can’t even _be_ my cat, but here he is: white paws in the front, blue eyes, so I’m positive that’s Jekyll.”

“_Jekyll?_” This gets Tony a laugh, and he feels himself smile despite the insanity of it all. Hot Guy had a wonderful laugh, warm and happy, and his eyes crinkled up at the corners in a way that was almost too endearing.

“He’s _evil_, I told you! The name fits,” Tony exclaims. “I’m Tony, by the way.” 

“Thought you were about to tell me you were Hyde, for a second there. I’m Steve.”

_Steve_. Steve was a perfect name, Tony decides. 

“Well, Steve, I really can’t thank you enough for finding him. I promise he’s usually much more ferocious.”

Steve smiles at him, then pets Jekyll’s ears a final time before handing him over to Tony. “Whatever you say, Tony.” He looks down at the car in his arms. “I think your dad missed you, little guy,” he says, but Jekyll doesn’t budge, just turns his head into Steve’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Come on, stop being a brat and let’s go home,” Tony says incredulously. _Nothing_. 

Steve shrugs. “I mean. He doesn’t seem to be on the verge of attack any time soon, so you could… I mean, if you wanted, you could come in while he sleeps? I just put coffee on…” Steve is blushing wildly now, all the way down to his neck, and Tony is possessed by the insane urge to reach out and touch the warmth of it. He swallows it down, smiling. 

“Sure, I love coffee, coffee keeps me going. But when he wakes up and lunges, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’d hate to see anything happen to a face like that,” he winks. 

Steve’s face goes a darker shade at Tony’s words, and he grins, making a silent promise to buy the expensive, fancy food for his little matchmaker next time he was at the pet store. For now though, he follows Steve, and his apparently very friendly cat, inside.


	68. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stevetony + "I've been waiting to kiss you all night" 💖💜

Steve’s propped up in bed reading when Tony gets home from his gala. He’d been tip-toeing through the house, doing his best to keep quiet so he didn’t wake his husband, but here he is, peering at Tony over the top of his book with a smile that could wash even the slimiest journalists from Tony’s memory. He feels everything in him loosen, no small feat after a night of schmoozing on his own.

“Thought you’d be long asleep, sweetheart, what are you doing up?” Tony asks. He shakes his jacket off his shoulders and onto the desk chair, to be dealt with tomorrow.

Steve rests the book on his chest and his smile widens. “Waiting for you; I’ve been waiting to kiss you all night,” he says. “C’mere.”

Tony crosses the room in three steps and sits himself between Steve’s legs. He smiles up at him, at the idea of having someone who waits up _just to kiss_ _him_, and finds that he can’t _stop_ smiling.

But that’s okay, because Steve is kissing him now, an unhurried _welcome home_, and he’s smiling too.

“Some would say that sending selfies like the one I got earlier is simply _not_ fair, Mr. Rogers-Stark,” Steve remarks when they manage to break apart.

“Mm?” Tony makes a questioning sound before leaning back in.

“You know the one,” Steve says. He nibbles at Tony’s earlobe softly, making him shiver, then kisses along the goosebumps.

“I might have missed you,” Tony smiles, teasing. “Steve…”

When Steve gaze meets Tony’s, though, he’s stunned by the way he looks at him. Like he’s something irreplaceable, something precious. Tony’s distracted, for a moment, by the way Steve presses the softest, feather-light kisses to his neck, then his jaw, then the insides of his wrists, like he’s cherishing him.

“I love you,” Tony whispers. Then again: “I love you.” Once never feels like enough.

“Come here,” Steve says again, tugging Tony closer, always closer. He brings his fingers to the knot of Tony’s tie and loosens it carefully, until it slips over his head, and he kisses the skin where it sat. Then he lifts Tony’s wrist again, kissing it just as gently before removing the cufflinks and setting them on the side table. The shirt is next, a loose collar, buttons undone, before that gets discarded, too. Tony is warm all over, the simple intimacy of it nearly overwhelming him, and Steve smiles at his handiwork.

“Close enough to what you sent me earlier, hm?” Steve murmurs, kissing Tony’s bare skin everywhere he can reach.

“Pretty close, yeah,” Tony breathes.

“You looked amazing, I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Steve says. He’d been away on a mission that ran way too long, and Tony had missed him tonight, yes, but for the better part of a week, too.

“S’okay,” Tony tells him, because it is, because they’re together now, and that’s what matters. “Now, come here, I’ve been waiting to kiss you all night,” Tony says, leaning in again. Steve’s still smiling when their lips meet.


	69. You Belong With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain of the football team Steve + Nerd Tony + One very important homecoming football game.

Tony started going to the Friday night football games last fall, because Rhodey made varsity, and he was one of Tony’s best friends. Also one of his _only_ friends, but that wasn’t the point. Tony wasn’t into high school football any more than he was into high school itself, but for Rhodey, he sucked it up. He bundled up in as many layers as he could pack onto his smallish frame, and sat on the freezing bleachers with the rest of his classmates. He didn’t understand all the rules, but everyone jumped and screamed and leapt out of their seats at the same time, so it wasn’t hard to fake it. 

Now, their senior football season, Tony can admit that he might just like the games after all.

“That’s just because every game ends with you and Rogers shoving your tongues down each other’s throats!” Rhodey argues when Tony voices this. “You were vocal about your disdain for, and I quote, _organized enthusiasm and neanderthals running around in tights_.”

Tony’s face heats. He could admit that this change of heart might have… _a lot_ to do with Steve Rogers. 

But how could it not? Tony never would’ve expected that the one time he went to meet Rhodey in the locker room after a game last season he would stumble headfirst into Steve. Or that Steve would, with truly rom-com level reflexes, catch Tony just before he hit the ground. Tony had always thought Steve was… incredible really was the only word for it. He might be a certified genius who preferred computers to most people, but he wasn’t that far removed from the world of high school. With his perfect blond hair, blue eyes, and movie star smile, Steve was perfect. An all-American boy next door who had a kind word for everyone despite a Popular Guy image that included being the captain of the football team and a shoo-in for prom king. Tony knew of Steve, of course, he’d even had a class or two with him, but he’d long since assumed Steve was far, far out of his league. 

Not that the massive crush Tony had harbored for years could be diminished by a silly thing like _logic_. Tony figured it couldn’t hurt to daydream, and since he could teach most of his AP classes with his eyes closed, he had a lot of extra time for such pursuits. 

Then, the night in the locker room happened. Steve’s blue eyes smiling down at Tony, his arms holding on for just a second too long; Tony all but swooned, tripping over his words as he tried to stammer out his thanks. Steve kept smiling at him, blushing slightly, because of course he was hot _and_ kind of shy. Tony managed to croak out something about what a great game it’d been, and by the time Rhodey found them, they were talking with ease, and had lost all track of time. Tony was completely smitten. It wasn’t until the following Monday, when Rhodey texted him after football practice, that everything changed.

_Your boy asked me for your number today. Told him I didn’t have it…_

_You WHAT!_

_Relax, Tones, I’m kidding, I’m sure Prince Charming is crafting the perfect message as we speak ;)_

As it happened, Steve had been doing just that. 

So yeah, Tony went to the games a little more enthusiastically now. He loved that he could feel Steve’s eyes searching him out in the massive crowd just before the game started, he loved watching Steve run plays with the team, and superficially, tights were pretty much _made_ for the likes of Steve Rogers. Besides, now he got to wear Steve’s varsity jacket as he watched the games. It was way too big on Tony’s slim frame, but it managed to make him exponentially warmer every time he slipped into it. 

It was a strange shift, too, going from the nerdy science kid to Steve Rogers’ boyfriend. People who never gave him a second glance, or only spoke to him when they needed help with their homework now wanted to be his best friends. Tony didn’t care much for popularity, but he loved Steve, so he tried to go with the flow. Plus, it helped that Steve and Rhodey already knew each other. Tony didn’t even mind attending the football parties, if only to be pulled onto Steve’s lap halfway through the night, as he nursed a single beer. He’d even driven all of his parents’ cars through the carwash the team held as a fundraiser, figuring it was a win for everyone involved. 

Now, with the homecoming game just a day away, Steve is a bundle of nerves. They were playing their rival team, and it was rumored that scouts from schools in the surrounding states would be at the game, adding an additional layer of pressure. 

“I need this scholarship, Tony, it’s the only way for me to go somewhere next year,” Steve says for the hundredth time. Tony puts down the Xbox controller in his hand and moves to the bed, laying himself down on top of Steve. 

“Ste-eeve,” Tony says in a low sing-song. “You’re going to blow them away. Do the spinny play thing, you know the one, you made it up, but that one. They’ll love you, whether you win or lose.” 

Steve gives a half-hearted smile. Tony knows the anxiety in that smile, though. Steve wanted a scholarship to Northeastern, so he could be close to MIT. Tony wanted that too, but he was so sure Steve would do great that he’s confident enough for both of them. He runs a hand along Steve’s arm, glad as always for parents who were away as often as his. He brings their lips together.

“Hey,” Tony says, pulling away just enough to speak. “You’re going to be great. _You’re_ great. I love you, you know that right?”

Steve exhales, smiling at him. “I know, I love you too. And you’ll be there? Right in front?” 

“Obviously,” Tony grins. 

“Good.” This, more than anything, seems to calm him, and he relaxes with Tony against him, drawing lazy circles on his hip bone until it was time to leave. 

–

When the homecoming game finally starts, _Tony_ is the one who’s all nerves. There are a lot of official looking people around, and he can hardly tell the involved parents from the college scouts. He sits on his hands, both to warm them up and to stop himself from biting his nails down to the quick, and turns his eyes to the field. The team is jogging out, smiling, though Tony can see that Steve’s is almost one hundred percent forced. He leaps to his feet and cheers at the sight of him, then again for Rhodey, and the rest of his section joins him. Tony apparently has followers now. 

The game starts slowly, and they’re down a touchdown for what feels like forever. Some of the plays are sloppy, despite Steve’s best efforts; everyone’s nervous and it shows. By the time halftime ends, though, the team seems to have rediscovered their confidence, Steve running out enthusiastically, coordinating the team, and playing one of the strongest second halves Tony has ever seen. He’s screaming until he feels hoarse with it, enough that he’s sure Steve can hear his every word, and parents are wondering whose embarrassing kid he is.

He doesn’t care. 

Then, before he knew it, the clock is running down, Steve is throwing the ball and Rhodey is taking it and running it down the field and the clock is stopping and they _win_, and Tony is definitely screaming now. The game is officially over, and he floods out of the bleachers and into the field, pushing through the hoards of students and families and running like he has blinders on, his sights set only on Steve. 

Steve sees him, extricates himself from the hugs of teammates and parents, and catches Tony in his arms, lifting him up and spinning him around. 

“You did it,” Tony yells into his neck, full of adrenaline. 

“Couldn’t have without you. I swear it was like I could hear your voice in my head the whole second half.”

“That’s just because I was screaming _that_ loud. Also, I have a confession,” Tony says playfully. “I might not hate football.”

“Oh, no? Why’s that?” Steve kisses him, oblivious to the people around them. 

“I kinda like this quarterback,” Tony tells him seriously. “Don’t say anything, but I think he has a thing for me too.”

“Mm, well, it’s unfortunate that you like this other guy, because I really lucked out today. One of the Northeastern coaches made a beeline for me right at the end of the game. They want me to apply. He said he can’t guarantee anything, but he winked _a lot_, gave me a lot numbers. We could be in the same city next year,” Steve confides, smiling so widely Tony wonders dazedly if his face might split in half with the force of it. 

“_Steve!_” Tony shouts again, throwing his arms around him, letting himself be kissed and kissed, right there in the middle of the field. “I knew it! I knew it! I love you, but I_ knew it!_”

“Yeah, yeah, my smarty pants boyfriend knows so much, it’s a good thing he fell in that locker room last year,” Steve grins at him. 

Tony rolls his eyes, pulling Steve back down for another kiss, the excitement of the game still swirling around them. 

He’d fallen hard last year, that was for sure.


	70. Time to Rake the Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superfamily + “Looks like it’s time to rake the leaves…”

“Daddy!” Peter shouts, “look how big our leaf pile is!” Peter throws his arms out wide to show Steve the pile he and Tony had worked on all afternoon. Tony tries to smile at his husband, but it’s more of a grimace than anything. He’s clearly in worse shape than he realized if _raking_ gets him this winded these days.

“Wow, I’m impressed! Were you a very good helper?” Steve calls to Peter, who nods vigorously.

Steve grins at them from the top of the steps, taking them two at a time to join his family on the lawn. He leans in and kisses Tony, warm and sweet; the weather is finally changing, and Tony feels warm with exertion beneath the flannel he has on.

“You didn’t have to do this all by yourself, sweetheart,” Steve tells him, lifting Peter up into his arms to say hello. “We could’ve done it together this weekend!”

“He didn’t do it himself, I’m here!” Peter reminds them with a look of affront.

“Of course you are, I’m sorry,” Steve kisses Peter’s nose before setting him down.

“He did help at first… then doubled the work when he kept throwing himself into the piles,” Tony murmurs to Steve with a laugh. He can’t find it in him to be mad at the kid, though.

“Sounds about right,” Steve nods, taking the rake from Tony’s hands and pulling more leaves into the pile in large, sweeping strokes.

“Not fair, your arms are twice as long as mine,” Tony points out.

“It’s not a contest, Tony, I’m just trying to help you,” Steve says, but he’s smirking as he says it.

“Mm, likely story…” Tony leans in and kisses him again, pulling him close, the rake falling to the ground between them.

Peter squawks at the sight. “Daddy! What are you doing?” he demands.

“You’ve raised quite the little drill sergeant,” Tony comments, and laughs when Steve snorts in response.

“Me?! This stubborness is all you Mr. Rogers-Stark.”

“Call it even?” Tony asks, just as Peter shouts again, a loud _watch this!_ right before taking a running leap into the leaves, landing with peals of laughter.

Steve looks at Tony. “Looks like it’s time to rake the leaves… again,” he says wryly.

“Yeah, but first…” Tony grabs Steve’s hand and they fall back together, into the giant pile of leaves with Peter, who is nothing short of delighted to have his parents join him. When Tony catches his breath after laughing with his family, he thinks that the dad bod is might just be worth it for moments like this.


	71. Keep You Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from a Cold + Staying Warm  
Steve takes care of Tony when he gets a fall cold.

“I should be mad at you,” Tony says, rubbing at his nose with a fist and shivering. “Because you gave me the _plague_, but I can’t even be mad because you’re you, and you’re making me secret recipe soup.” He pouts at Steve from where he sits, surrounded by blankets on the couch.

“_Attempting_ to make soup,” Steve points out, frowning into the pot on the stove. He’s cute when he’s all frowny focused; he gets a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows that Tony likes to kiss away when he’s close enough to do it. “And it’s the least I can do after you took care of me last week.”

“That’s another thing! You were a cute sick person. No one is supposed to look so cute with a red nose, it’s just not fair,” Tony says indignantly. His own nose is pink from a weekend of sneezing and sniffling, his hair looks like a home for wayward birds, and he’s wearing a worn out sweatshirt he’s had since college. All in all, decidedly _not chic_.

“I happen to think you’re a very cute sick person with an equally cute nose, how’s that?” Steve joins Tony on the couch, two oversized mugs of soup in his hands. “This should help warm you up. It’s not Ma’s, but it’s not half bad,” Steve tells him, holding out a red mug. 

“Captain Modesty at your service,” Tony smirks. If Steve says something isn’t _half bad_, that usually means it’s incredible. 

He gives Tony a chagrined look, ducking his head. “Just try it,” Steve says. 

It’s amazing, of course, warm and comforting and tasting like _home_ in a way that gives Tony way too many feelings for two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. Steve making him soup and spending a lazy weekend tucked away under blankets was quickly turning his insides to goo. No one had ever made Tony soup before, homemade or otherwise. He’d never had anyone to fuss at him for not wearing socks or keeping up with his cold medicine. He didn’t even mind that Steve banned him from the lab, since it meant they got to watch bad TV together for hours on end. 

It was nice, having someone. Having _Steve._

The soup does warm him up, so much so that Tony’s traitorous eyes start to feel heavy, and he lets Steve pull him in against him, head cradled in Steve’s lap while he stroked a hand through the mess of Tony’s hair. He gives a stuffy sigh, utterly at ease despite his horrible change of season cold.

“Never had anyone do this for me before,” Tony says, the warmth and the haziness of his cold making him much more forthcoming than usual. Steve doesn’t have to ask what he means, and he goes quiet for a minute, his hand soft on Tony’s cheek. “I love you,” Tony mumbles into his lap, tiredly.

“So it’s a no on being mad at me, then?” Steve asks with a small smile. 

“Mph, can’t be mad at you… love you too much,” Tony confirms, snuggling deeper into the blankets Steve had covered him with.

“Love you too, Tony.” Steve murmurs.


	72. Take a Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A library meet cute (grad school AU)

Tony has something of a sixth sense for when people are looking at him. You develop that kind of thing when you grow up as Howard Stark’s son, so by the time graduate school comes around, Tony is kind of an expert in spatial awareness. Which is how he knows, without a doubt, that the guy behind him has been staring at him for the last half hour at least. 

He’d seen him around, blond, blue-eyed, kind of small, always in the library, because it was approaching finals week and graduate students never sleep, unless it’s a five minute doze on top of their laptop. This isn’t the first time he’d caught him looking, and he was sick of it. Tony had long since given up on blending in, being a normal guy at a normal school, but he just wanted to finish typing up his research notes in peace and he can’t focus with eyes like that boring a hole in his head. 

“You want a picture? It’ll last longer,” Tony snaps, whirling around in his seat. The guy looks like a deer in the headlights, caught in the act of staring, and his cheeks turn an immediate, embarrassed shade of pink. _Good_, Tony can’t help but think; though that thought is quickly chased by the infuriating notion that the blush is also absurdly cute, which is not doing much for the point he’s trying to make. 

The guy frowns through the blush, a hand going to his hip. “What, do you have eyes in the back of your head or something?” he asks, indignant.

“Something like that. Just because I’m used to being stared at doesn’t mean I like it,” Tony argues. Students are looking at them now, whispering among themselves. Tony sighs. Even better, they had an audience now. From now on, studying can be done in his apartment. 

“You’re _used to it?_ Does your head actually fit through doors without assistance or do you just turn to the side?” The flush is quickly replaced by a feisty kind of anger, and it hits Tony that for the first time ever, maybe someone really is just looking. Maybe he didn’t know who Tony Stark was. It was rare, but not impossible, he supposes.

“Do you… not know who I am?” Tony asks, calmer now.

“You’re kind of an asshole, which is really ruining how good looking I thought you were, but that’s about all I know. That and you’ve got an ego the size of this campus. Maybe bigger.” 

Huh. He really doesn’t know who Tony is, then. It fills him with a ridiculous pleasure to think that this blond stranger was checking him out, though he’d probably managed to ruin his idea of him in a matter of three minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, moving to join him at a table covered in books and papers and an ancient-looking laptop. “Can we start over? I’m Tony Stark… son of Howard Stark, long-time sufferer of people staring and taking pictures of me when they think I don’t know. The problem is, I always know. So. I’m sorry for snapping.”

The blond looks abashed. “Oh, I didn’t… I really didn’t know. Like I said, I thought you were cute, and I was trying to dream up a reason to come talk to you when you turned around. I’m Steve. Rogers,” he adds. He holds out his hand and Tony shakes it, his grip surprisingly strong for a guy his size. 

“Steve. It’s nice to meet you. If you want, I can turn around, and you can come talk to me like this never happened. Or, you can decide I’m kind of a jerk and go back to your books,” Tony says.

Steve smiles at him then, and it hits Tony like lightning, a warmth pooling in his stomach.

“Why? We’re talking now, aren’t we?” Steve points out, still smiling over at him, his blue eyes friendly and hopeful now.

So they were. 


	73. The One Like FRIENDS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all remember that f.r.i.e.n.d.s episode where nobody knows chandler and monica are dating nd chandler accidentally kisses monica on the lips in front of everyone??? he then promptly jumps to kiss the rest of the girls as well?? now someone write this with stevetony p l e a s e with steve being chandler and tony being monica. i will name my firstborn after you, please

“What about tarantulas?” Clint demands mid-bite, inhaling his stack of pancakes as if they might disappear before his eyes.

“All I’m saying, my friend, is that snakes are, without a doubt, the most terrifying creatures on Midgard,” Thor says sagely. 

“I gotta disagree with you on that, pal,” Tony interjects with a smile. “Jellyfish are _menacing_. They blend into the water, and then they shock the hell out of you. Like _lightning_. You gotta have a problem with that, what with your whole thunder and lightning schtick. They’re encroaching on your territory almost.” Tony smiles over at Steve, who ducks his head. Tony was always doing that, throwing little knowing looks and nods Steve’s way, making him blush when no one understood why. It was enough to drive him to distraction.

“_Nothing_ is worse than snakes I’m afraid,” Thor says, clearly not budging on this one. He sips his orange juice and lets the team attempt to find their next argument.

“With that, I gotta get to the compound,” Steve says, standing up with a shake of his head and a laugh. Tony turns and looks at him, eyebrows raised, like he wants Steve to step in and side with him. His soft mouth curls into a smile, and all Steve can see is Tony in bed, blankets strewn around him with his hair a mess, the sleepy smile he gives Steve when they wake up tangled together every morning still fresh on his lips. _That’s _what Steve is thinking about when he leans down and drops a kiss to Tony’s lips like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because to Steve, it _is_. Unfortunately for them, as far as kisses go it’s … not exactly chaste; it’s warm and inviting and Steve’s running his tongue along the seam of Tony’s lips when his boyfriend pulls away abruptly, staring up at Steve wide-eyed. 

_Shit_. 

Kissing at breakfast is very much _not a thing,_ given the fact that no one technically knows they’re together. 

Steve’s heart pounds so hard in his chest that he’s seventeen all over again, desperate for his inhaler. He hears a sharp intake of breath somewhere at the table and swallows hard.

_Shit._

Tony’s eyes are screaming at him to _do something already_, so Steve does the only thing he can think to do. 

He turns around and leans in, cups Thor’s jaw, and kisses him on the mouth, just for a few seconds. He pulls away before Thor can respond, and smiles down at him.

“Have a good one, Thor, don’t run into any boa constrictors!” Steve says jovially. He’s much too loud, he knows this, but he’s already moving over to Clint’s seat. 

Steve brings their lips together with a well-concealed wince. Clint is mid-bite, and he tastes like syrup and stale coffee and Steve is having _a lot_ of regrets. This is what he gets for letting Tony’s sleepy doe eyes distract him in the morning. 

“Barton! Always a pleasure,” Steve blurts when he pulls away. He has to fight back to the urge to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. 

_God_, he loves Tony. They were really going to have to do something about this; he couldn’t go around kissing the entire team every time he wanted to kiss Tony goodbye. 

Steve does his best to ignore the way everyone is staring at him, like they half expected him to grow a second and third head. He can sense Tony’s eyes on him, can feel him fighting the urge to throw his head back and laugh at the situation they were in. He forces himself not to look. Instead, Steve gives his best Captain America show boy smile before turning on his heel and heading out the door, cheeks blazing.

They were _definitely _going to have to rethink this arrangement. 


	74. Mirror Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're taking prompts here's a one: Tony falls asleep on top of Steve. Steve wakes up with a circle in the middle of his chest from the arc reactor and when Tony sees it he gets a bit emotional.

Steve and Tony typically have a routine when one or both of them gets back from a mission. It starts with a shower, hot and unhurried, loosening their limbs until they’re ready to slip into the cool sheets that await them in bed. Sometimes Tony will massage Steve’s shoulders, working at the knots there and moving down along his muscled back, the movement relaxing both of them until Tony can feel the tension melt off Steve in waves. It helps him, knowing Steve’s relaxed beneath him, and he has no trouble letting Steve envelope him in his arms as they fall asleep together. It’s comfortable, and more importantly it’s _theirs_; the kind of routine sameness neither of them had ever had before. It takes no time at all for them to settle into this careful domesticity, and on those nights, lips finding lips for a lazy kiss goodnight, they wonder why they hadn’t been doing this all along. 

Other nights, they’re so tired they can feel it deep down in their bones. So tired that all they can do is leave their uniforms, tattered and torn, in a heap on the floor. They skip the shower, there’s no energy for the intimacy of a massage, no appetites for dinner. On these nights, they fall into bed in a bruised tangle of arms and legs, full of an exhaustion so deep they’re silent, breathing each other in and falling into a deep, all-consuming sleep. It’s not necessarily restful, but it eases them from the violence of the day until there’s nothing but the mattress and the backs of their eyelids. 

When they wake up after a night like that, they’re quiet. It’s like nothing they’ve experienced together; not the heated urgency of morning sex, or the softness of a languid morning in bed. These mornings bring them a surety in their relationship, a reminder that no matter what happens out there in the world, in the _universe_, for that matter, at home like this it was just the two of them. Captain America and Iron Man shedding their armor and bravado and slipping into the terrifying role of _human beings_. 

It’s one of those mornings, and Steve comes to slowly. He can feel the comforting weight of Tony splayed across his chest; he hadn’t moved a muscle all night. Steve runs a hand softly up and down Tony’s spine, feeling every ridge, every bruise on his body, another reminder that beneath even the best armor, he’s only ever human. Steve sighs into Tony’s hair and feels him shift in his arms, waking up just as slowly. 

“Mmph,” Tony exhales loudly, then buries his face in Steve’s shoulder where it’s still dark, where he can pretend to still be asleep. 

“Morning,” Steve murmurs. He’s in no hurry to move, doesn’t want Tony to roll away from him. He wants to lay there all day long, Tony dozing lazily on top of him. And thanks to the serum, he very well could. 

But Tony does move, just slightly, leaning up enough to press a warm kiss to Steve’s mouth. He’s about to return the kiss when something catches Tony’s attention and he freezes, pulling away from Steve as his mouth contorts into something that’s a cross between affection and repulsion.

“What?” Steve asks him.

Tony gestures to Steve’s chest, where he’d spent the night tucked in close, and looks away.  
  
_Ah._ Steve looks down and finds a perfect outline of the arc reactor pressed into his chest, and his own heart catches in his throat. He traces it gently with a finger, feeling every bump and ridge where metal hit skin, creating a mirror image of Tony Stark’s heart, right there on Steve’s chest. His fingers itch for a pencil, because there’s art in this moment, he’s sure of it. 

“Now we both have one,” Steve says quietly, running a hand through Tony’s hair until he looks up at him, brown eyes uncertain as ever. 

“Did it hurt you?” he asks, biting his lip and leaning in to take a closer look at any accidental damage.

“Of course not. It’ll fade, you know, but it’s… nice in a way, like it’s part of me, too,” Steve says, touching it again. 

“You don’t want that,” Tony says quickly, disgusted. 

“Well, I don’t need it like you need it, and I have the real thing right here,” Steve taps the reactor carefully, pulling Tony in close. He lifts Tony’s hand to his chest, where the rapidly fading imprint is, and holds it there. “But I think it feels perfect, like your heart on mine,” he says, wondering if he’s being _too much_ with his words so early in the morning.

Tony stills, then leans in and kisses him, not lifting his hand from Steve’s chest. “When you put it that way…” Tony says, his eyes softening a little as he looks at Steve. “Maybe it’s not so bad,” he acquiesces.

Just then, nothing feels so bad. 


	75. Smile for the Camera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is an actor having a really stressful time of it, and Tony is his producer/boyfriend who helps him along the way.

Steve takes a deep breath and counts to ten slowly, once, and then again, keeping his eyes closed as he breathes. This helps sometimes, gets him re-centered and relaxed enough to continue on when he’s stressed out or exhausted or both, like he is now. A full week of press followed by two weeks of filming has him aching for his own bed, and maybe a visit home to his parents. It’d been a while since Steve had his mother’s cooking, or spent time just throwing a ball for his old golden retriever, Oatmeal. He missed them. He missed his apartment and his local bar and his friends. He missed not being chased through the airport like he had been this morning. 

Fame was…complicated, and sometimes Steve worried he’d never be comfortable again. 

It was just part of the deal, Steve knew this going in, but knowing it never made it any easier. No one looks good after an eight hour flight, no one wants anything but a shower and some water and again, their _bed_ after flying across the country. But when you’re Steve Rogers, face of one of the biggest movie franchises in history, you forfeit that luxury. Sometimes he doesn’t mind; Steve loves the fans, he really does, but there’s a time and a place, and sometimes he wants to be just a guy in an airport without feeling like he has to be _on_ all the time. 

And even though Steve knows that feeling overwhelmed doesn’t make him ungrateful, he still always finds himself swallowing his guilt when he gets anxious like this, like he should be more appreciative of the life he’s lucky enough to have. After all, he’s doing what he loves, getting paid to do what he loves at that. 

And, as if that wasn’t enough, Steve had fallen hard for Tony Stark, one of the most well-respected directors in the industry, and somehow, his feelings had been reciprocated. Their relationship was a definite upside to his current lifestyle, buoying him against the otherwise rough waters. Having Tony by his side made things easier, and while Steve made a point to keep things professional on set, it helped just knowing that Tony was there, that he understood how all of this impacted Steve in just about every way. More than once, Tony had found Steve alone in his trailer while everyone ate lunch together. He didn’t have to say anything, just squeezed Steve into a hug and sat with him in comfortable silence, stroking his hand every now and again. 

Now, back on set after a week of travel, Steve can’t help but think that he should be able to shake off the exhaustion and the anxious feeling deep in his stomach and move on with his day, wrap up this take so everyone can go home, but some days it’s just harder than others. He’s still feeling jet-lagged, and the thought of yet more press, more flashing bulbs and screaming fans in the coming weeks is consuming Steve’s every thought, distracting him from his lines, making him stumble over his words and apologize, again and again, for his mistakes. 

_One, two, three_, Steve starts again. _In and out_. They start again, running through lines Steve knows by heart. He has them down, can say them in his sleep, it’s just that he hasn’t been _getting_ any sleep, and that’s half the problem. He hears one of the other actors, a guy Steve’s talked to a handful of times, always really nice and polite, lean over and mutter something to an extra, and Steve freezes. He knows they’re talking about him, and sure, he’s the fucking lead in the movie, and if he were the kind of asshole who didn’t care what people thought, he’d let it go, but instead he’s paralyzed at the thought of letting them down. 

_Fuck_. Why did he have to be this way?

The counting isn’t working anymore, and Steve’s mind is racing and all he wants it to just pause for a second and regroup and if he could just–

“_CUT!”_ Tony’s voice, right when Steve needs it most, interrupts his thought spiral. “Let’s just call it, shall we? Come back fresher tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and I don’t know about you guys, but _I_ for one could use a drink.” Tony manages to lighten the mood just like that, and Steve envies him. He hangs back as the rest of the cast groups up and disperses, heading for trailers and cars and the bar conveniently located just across the street. 

Steve moves slowly over to Tony, who holds out an arm to him, and he feels himself start to crumble at the gesture.

“What happened out there, baby boy? You miss me so much while you were away that you needed an early call time?” Tony approaches lightly, like he always does. He never wanted to push, and Steve loves him all the more for it. 

Tony reaches out and cups Steve’s jaw in his palm, soft but firm, and runs a hand along Steve’s cheek. He wonders idly if Tony can feel the bags under his eyes with his thumb, if his skin is vibrating with unease, rumbling beneath the surface as Tony caresses his cheek.

“Sorry, one of those days I guess…” Steve murmurs. He doesn’t want to get into it, takes comfort in the knowledge that he doesn’t have to. Tony knows exactly what’s happening; it’s why he ended the day early without drawing any attention to Steve. 

Tony leans in and kisses Steve gently, just a soft press of lips, warm and dry, but it’s enough to drown out all the noise. Steve thinks again of buoys in a storm, raging waters calming as the dawn breaks, and when they pull apart, he breathes deeply, no counting needed.

“You’re okay, you know that, right?” Tony asks quietly. “You’ll be just fine, Steve.”

Steve nods, though the words are so soft, so reassuring that he feels himself relax just a fraction. He presses his forehead against Tony’s, reaching down to twine their fingers together. He has a long road ahead of him, a lot more to overcome, but tomorrow is another day.


	76. Bedtime Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy prompt! Steve walks in on their 5 year old son (Peter harley whoever or morgan even oc etc.) And he has tonys head in his lap and he's giving him a massage around his arc reactor and temples and rubbing his chest while tony is actually asleep for once and their kid is whispering nice lovely things like your hair is soft but you've got wrinkles dad

It’s suspiciously quiet when Steve gets home from the compound. From the looks of the kitchen, and the plate waiting for Steve on the counter, Tony had taken care of dinner and probably bath time, too, since it was already getting late, and he smiles to himself. His day had been long, one thing after the next thrown onto his plate, and he’d texted Tony halfway through, grumbling about it. 

_You don’t get that in retirement ;)_ Tony had texted back, forever trying to convince Steve to give up the superhero gig and be a stay at home parent for Peter with him. Steve, in turn, tried to explain that ‘working from home’ and ‘retired’ weren’t quite the same thing, but he hadn’t gotten too far with that argument just yet. 

Now though, Steve looks around their house feeling especially thankful for his stay at home husband, wherever he might be right now. He’s grabbing a glass of water when he hears it, the distinct sound of toddler babble he and Tony can never get enough of. They sent videos back and forth all day when one of them wasn’t home, just so nothing was missed. Peter was in his most chatty phase right now, talking even when no one was there to listen, alone in his crib, or when Steve and Tony were talking to each other while he rode along in a stroller. 

“…You’re tired Daddy, it’s okay…” 

Steve follows the sound of Peter’s hushed voice into the playroom, where Tony is asleep on the couch, Peter stretched out on his chest, tracing the light of the arc reactor and murmuring to him. 

“I’ll give you a bedtime story, ‘kay?” Peter wastes no time diving in, sucking in a breath and charging on, his voice small and soft in the dim light of his playroom. “Once upon a time Prince Peter had a big bad dragon come get him, but it was okay because…” He wasn’t wanting for imagination, that was for sure. They’d been reading to Peter for years by now, and it was clear that he’d absorbed a lot of the books they read together each night. 

Steve stands in the doorway as Peter does his best version of a bedtime story for Tony, smiling as their son continues to run his tiny hands around the glowing blue light in Tony’s chest as he talks. When he was a baby, just an infant really, Peter had been fascinated by the light there, crying if Tony went too far from him, especially at night. He’d mostly grown out of it, but it was clear he still had a soft spot for that particular piece of Tony. Steve just manages to pull out his phone to snap a picture when Peter looks up and spots him. 

“Daddy!” Peter whisper-yells, holding out his hands to him. “Shhh… he’s _sleeping_.” He’s very serious about this, and Steve makes a show of tip toeing over to the couch to join him. 

“I was just listening from over there, you’re a bedtime story pro now, Pete,” Steve tells him. He leans over and pulls Peter into his lap, breathing in the soft bath-sweet smell of their son as he hugs him. _Nothing_ beats coming home to this. Steve’s about to ask Peter what happens to Prince Peter next when Tony stirs beside him, smiling sleepily up at them. 

“Oh, hi sweetheart,” Tony murmurs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Must’ve just fallen asleep for a minute.”

“I told you a bedtime story, Daddy! I’m a _pro_ now,” he declares, parroting Steve’s words back at them. 

Tony laughs, tired eyes crinkling a bit more at the corners these days, and Steve can’t help the smile that breaks over his face. 

“He is a pro, Tony, it’s a shame you missed it,” Steve teases, leaning down for a kiss. “I managed to grab a picture for you, though.”

“My hero,” Tony says, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “What do you think, squirt, should we give Daddy a repeat performance in bed?” Tony asks Peter. “I need to know what happens in this tale you’re telling, you wouldn’t leave us hanging, right?”

Peter pretends to consider this, then claps his hands together excitedly. “_Yes_! I was just getting to the good part!” 

“Perfect,” Tony says, letting Steve pull him up and off the couch. “I can’t wait to hear it.” Tony winks at Steve as they link hands. Steve couldn’t wait, either.


	77. Keeping Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is obsessed with making sure Steve is warm enough

Tony watches Steve shift in his seat, tug the comically small throw blanket over his huge frame, shiver, then repeat the process all over again. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so adorably sad. He was like a Great Dane puppy, bunching himself up as small as he can to get comfortable — or, in Steve’s case — get warm. 

Tony had noticed this about Steve almost as soon as he moved into the Tower; he was nearly always chilly, especially for someone who supposedly “ran hot.” Steve walked around with layers on, swiped jackets from the backs of chairs, and was always the first to the living room for movie night, so as to have the best seat with the most blankets. This plan backfired tonight, hence the shifting and shuffling under a blanket made for a much smaller person. Tony was getting scoliosis just watching him contort himself under that thing. 

Steve Rogers getting cold had become something of a focus for Tony in recent months. One could argue that Steve had become a focus for him in recent months, but that was beside the point. Tony had taken to increasing the temperature in Steve’s room at night, and in the rest of the building when he was out and about at home, much to the annoyance of everyone else. 

“You’re killing us, Tony. Are you trying to cook us, like the witch and her oven in Hansel and Gretel?” Clint whined at him one afternoon in early fall. It wasn’t cold out by any stretch of the imagination, but Steve had come into the kitchen that morning and passed Tony a mug with hands so frigid Tony was tempted to have JARVIS check him for anemia, even though he knew the serum made that highly unlikely. 

Tony huffed, turning away from the thermostat and rolling his eyes, but before he could answer, Natasha piped up from the couch. 

“He’s obviously trying to woo Steve through some primal attempt to care for him. Cap’s always cold, so _we_ get to suffer,” she explained. 

“That’s- I’m… _Fine_, turn it down then,” Tony sighed. “I just own the building, what do I care?” He stalked away, trying his best to ignore the laughter that followed him. 

So he wanted to help Steve out, _so what?_

There was also the night in the kitchen, though, Tony recalled. He’d found Steve at the counter, wrapped up in a sweatshirt that looked as old as he was, fumbling to light the stove and make some tea. His hands were shaking, and Tony and smiled softly at him from the doorway before taking the mug and the kettle from him and making the tea himself. 

_Caveman, flame._

It didn’t matter though, because Tony made a mug for himself too, so it’s not like it was any extra trouble. He drank tea sometimes. Really, dried leaves in boiling water was a _delight_. Absolutely as good as coffee. Or at least, it could be when it came paired with Steve and the tired, grateful smile he’d given Tony, and the hours they’d spent in the too-warm living room watching late night hosts grill celebrities. 

Then came the time Steve found Tony in the lab, experimenting with new suits that were extra warm and insulated, without losing any of their protection. 

Tony had been at it for hours, and hadn’t even heard Steve come in until he cleared his throat and asked quietly, “That for me?”

Something shifted between them then, and Tony felt caught out, exposed in his efforts to take care of Steve Rogers in what little ways he could. He hadn’t planned to make a big deal out of the suit, anyway. Steve needed it and Tony could make it, had the time to play around with it, no big deal. But Steve had looked from the workbench to Tony looking like he was trying to do some kind of complex math and Tony felt his face warm at the attention. 

“Yeah I thought… it’s getting cold out, you might like something a little more, you know. Reinforced,” Tony said, shrugging. He’s never asked Steve why he was always cold, had just assumed it was just another side effect of spending so much time as a Capsicle.

Steve studied him, blue eyes shining. “It’s perfect, Tony, thank you,” he said sincerely, fingering the material and pausing. “I swear I wasn’t this cold when I was a hundred pounds soaking wet and constantly sick. I think some of the ice must’ve seeped into my bones or something,” he laughed a little sadly, and Tony wanted to reach out to him. He wanted to tell Steve he’d build him a hundred suits and buy him as many blankets and none of it would be a problem if it meant more moments like this one, more of Steve’s laser-focused attention on him, more quiet, late nights just the two of them. 

Instead, he placed a hand on Steve’s arm, just for a second, and it felt warm to the touch, for once. “No problem, Steve,” he promised. “We all have our things.”

Steve stayed after that, sitting with Tony in the lab while he finished up, and they talked about a lot of nothing before lapsing into a comfortable kind of quiet. Tony couldn’t be sure, but the space felt warmer than he remembered it being, without him even touching the thermostat. 

Which brings them back to right now: the team, the movie, the chilly room around them. Even Tony was cold, which meant someone had messed with the temperature before the movie started. He sneaks another look at Steve, who seems to have found a somewhat sustainable position under the throw, and something in him just…dissolves. He’s wearing a sweater that’s relatively warm, and Steve’s got the blanket, and a long-sleeved thermal shirt on, and he decides that they’d be a lot better off if they were tucked in together. 

It clicks for him then: they’re just… better together, and maybe he should finally do something about it.

Tony inches over to Steve, who looks at him, wide-eyed. Tony shrugs and gives him a smile that’s mostly a question, hoping he hadn’t been reading all of this wrong all along, but Steve’s smile is the answer he hoped for, and he lifts an arm so Tony can settle in against him, placing the blanket across both of them as best he can. Tony wraps himself around Steve and sighs; it’s like slipping into a hot bath, a comforting, bone-melting warmth seeping through him. 

“Warm enough now?” Tony asks. 

Steve tightens his arms around Tony, smiling into his chest, shy and content and happy, and nods.


	78. Toast the Puppy Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt wud u maybe write Steve going with Tony to the shelter to pick toast a new friend? Maybe dodger comes in to play or something the absolute opposite of toast so ones huge while the others tiny?

“Didn’t you say you were drawing the line at bringing home a friend for Toast? You did, eidetic memory, remember?” Tony teases as they walk down the aisles of crates at the animal shelter, Steve cooing into each and every one. 

“Shh, I said a friend named _Butter_, was off the table, but I’ll say yes to anything right now,” Steve says absently, peering into the crate of a dog who looks particularly sad, curled up on his little bed in the corner. He’s tiny, and his doggy eyebrows seem to lift skeptically as they approach. He looks jaded, like he’s past the point of prancing around in the hopes of attracting the attention of a human. Tony was sure he could feel his heart shattering; he’s also pretty sure Afghanistan was less painful than the look on this dog’s face. Steve squeezes Tony’s hand, his usually gentle touch putting Tony’s circulation at serious risk.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly. “Look at him. Read the card, his old family _gave him up _after six months. He’s only just over a year old and this is his full size. Who could do something like that?” Steve looks like he could punch a wall or grab the dog and run, and Tony can’t tell which is more likely. 

“It’s horrible, I know, I’d bring them _all_ home if we could,” Tony tells him. “But we could start with him?” He says tentatively, eager to see if Steve really would say yes to anything. 

“We can’t leave him here. Look how sad he looks,” Steve’s eyes are definitely misty, and if Tony looks at him too long he’ll be right there with him. “Imagine the shenanigans he’ll get into with Toast…”

Tony laughs at the image. This dog, Dodger, according to the name tag on the wall beside his crate, is a mix, just like Toast, but he’s much smaller. The idea of the two of them running around or napping together was almost too much, and Tony knows with an overwhelming certainty that Dodger would be coming home with them. 

Steve crouches down, so he’s at eye-level with the dog, and says in his most soothing voice, “Hi, buddy.”

The dog’s eyebrows come together again, like a grumpy old man, but he inches forward on his paws, which they take as a start. “You wanna come with us? Huh? You wanna come home?” Steve asks, and it’s like he knows. His ears come forward, and his tail gives a tentative little thump at the word. 

_Home_.

Steve’s encouraged. “Yeah? Home sounds good I bet. We have a friend for you, too! A brother! And a bed that’s way bigger than this one. You might get lost, but I think you’ll find your way.” Steve makes promises like he’s talking to a human, and Tony’s definitely at risk of tears at this point.

Dodger leaps up at the words though, his tail wagging excitedly, and he barks once, like he’s decided to take Steve up on his offer. Tony wraps his arms around Steve and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. 

“Good choice, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll go get someone to see about the paperwork.”

“The choice was all his. Though I admit, it feels like a sign, the name and all,” Steve smiles. 

When Darlene comes to help them, letting Dodger out of his crate to officially meet them, he nearly knocks Steve down with affection, licking every inch of him before nuzzling into his arms and promptly closing his eyes. 

“We were starting to think he was here for the long haul,” Darlene beams at them. “I’m so glad you came back,” she tells Tony. 

“Of course. I just hope Toast isn’t jealous,” he laughs as Dodger opens his eyes and licks Steve clean across the face, like he can’t believe his luck. 

“Toast? Or you?” Steve asks with a kiss to Tony’s cheek. 

“Well…Both.” Tony winks then takes Dodger from Steve’s arms and cuddles him in close. “But I think we’ll manage.”


	79. Just the Way You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please please PLEASE right about ace!Tony figuring out he’s asexual and never really liked sex, it was just a transaction. Cue in Steve or Rhodey who would never pressure him for sex and doesn’t understand why he’s crying when he tells him he’s ace and what if he doesn’t wanna be with Tony anymore??

For a long time, Tony thought it was his fault. That something was broken or wrong in him somehow. It wouldn’t have been a huge surprise; after all, his father had implied as much for most of Tony’s life.

The first time Tony slept with someone, he hadn’t been ready. Instead, all he wanted was to get the whole thing over with, so he might finally understand what his friends were going on about when the topic of sex inevitably came up again. All he had to do, he thought, was experience it for himself, and then he would be okay. Then he would _get it_. 

It didn’t quite work out that way, though. 

Tony wasn’t ready when the time came, and he didn’t necessarily _want_ to do it, but Ty was there, and they were doing the out-of-high-school-but-not-yet-twenty-one version of dating, which mostly meant showing up to parties and making out, and texting a lot late at night. It just made sense that he was the one Tony did it with. And since logic was something Tony was well acquainted with, he went for it. Ty was another thing Tony had just wanted to experience: his first “real” boyfriend. Ty was older, a senior to Tony’s junior, with an attitude that scared most of the underclassmen and on occasion, some of the professors. The fact that Ty Stone even wanted Tony Stark, with his glasses and his perfect grades, was a miracle in and of itself, and Tony figured_ why not_. 

Not exactly the premise for a long, blossoming relationship, but Tony didn’t know at the time. He didn’t know what he was, or why he felt the way he did. What he felt was endlessly, hopelessly lost, like he was missing some fundamental piece of himself. What he should have known was what an asshole Ty was, but that kind of first love idiocy has to be felt, lived through and learned from. So his first time was rushed, and didn’t feel good, and left Tony more confused than ever, because he still felt like he didn’t get it.

Ty enjoyed it though, and when Tony asked if he minded taking a step back and slowing down shortly afterward, he dumped him for some new guy on the baseball team. 

Tony couldn’t bring himself to cry over the loss. 

For years after, though, Tony was hesitant in his relationships. Because he did still _want_ them. He wanted that closeness, the affection, the feelings that came with dating, it was just the sex factor that threw him for a loop. He didn’t need that part, but he knew all too well that most people weren’t willing to forego it. By the time he took over Stark Industries, he knew how to use sex for what he’d come to know it as: a tool. It was almost comical that he, Tony Stark, had become synonymous with sex, when it was the last thing he actually wanted. 

It really might have been funny had it not been breaking his heart.

Tony was well into adulthood when he heard the term _asexuality_ for the first time. He happened to arrive early for a lecture he was giving at MIT, and caught the tail end of the speaker before him. It was a lecture called Modern Love: Sex and Sexuality, and the woman had explained, in no uncertain terms, that there was a word for how Tony had been feeling his whole life. It was like the world stopped spinning beneath him. 

It was all Tony could do to make it through his own lecture, to stop himself from having Pepper cancel the whole thing and ask Happy to come pick him up so he could Google the word from the privacy of his air conditioned backseat. He gets through it though, because he’s a Stark and that’s what they do, but he cuts the Q&A short, because he’s not actually made of iron. 

He has to know.

He reads and reads, and reads some more, but in the end, one of the first hits is the most succinct in its summary. It hits him like a punch to the solar plexus.

_An asexual is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. Unlike celibacy, which people choose, asexuality is an intrinsic part of who someone is. There is considerable diversity among the asexual community; each asexual person experiences things like relationships, attraction, and arousal somewhat differently._

He wants to cry, but it’s like he’s in shock, unable to cry or emote in any way just yet. Instead, he lets himself sit in silence, and he feels better than he has in a long, long time. 

Once he has a name for what he is, Tony figures he could continue making progress, continue trying to understand it and what it meant for his future relationships. He could have them, he decided, it would just take a very specific kind of person. For this, Tony could be patient.

Then he meets Steve Rogers, and for the second time in Tony’s life, time seemed to stop. 

Things progressed slowly, which Tony preferred, and they became teammates, then friends, so close that Tony wondered what his life had been like before Steve. He shuddered to think what his life would be without him, and on rare occasions, he even let himself indulge in thoughts about what life would be like if Steve was _his_. 

It was terrifying, the idea of putting himself out there and getting rejected. Of Steve thinking there was something wrong with him. But then… Steve wasn’t like that. He would never intentionally hurt him, Tony was sure of that. Still, he decides it’s safe to go with the friends thing for a while longer.

So Steve joins him in the lab, or hauls him out of it when it’s been hours and hours without sleep. They sit together during every movie night, and before long, no one else even bothers trying to sit beside either of them. Their dinners are long and lingering and they certainly feel like dates. The nights they spend together after, pressed together from shoulder to thigh on the couch, definitely felt more than friendly. 

What they have is gentle and careful and Steve treats him like he’s special, period end of sentence. Not special _because of_ or _in spite of._ Just, special, no qualifiers. Tony felt like he was in the suit, in controlled free fall, during those moments. It was the only point of comparison he had for being with Steve. 

Maybe Tony should be surprised when Steve kisses him for the first time, but deep down, he knew; he couldn’t be alone in something like this, so he kisses Steve back, warm and ecstatic, until he remembers himself, and he stops. He pulls away slowly and holds Steve’s gaze. His heart is rabbiting in his chest in something that was equal parts overwhelming joy and abject terror and he takes a shuddering breath.

“I thought I’d never get that chance,” Tony starts, and he’s encouraged by the beautiful, cheek-splitting smile Steve gives him in response, his hand still ghosting over Tony’s jaw. Carefully, always so carefully.

“I waited too long once. Not letting that particular piece of history repeat itself,” Steve murmurs. 

“I’m glad. I just. You should know something, about me. Because I want this to be… something. Everything, really, but it’s not fair not to tell you…” There’s heat behind his eyes and his throat feels too thick and god he was going to cry, wasn’t he?

“Tell me what, Tony?” Steve asks, eyes growing concerned but no less warm. 

“I’m… asexual. Sex isn’t really on the table… for me.” There. He said it. It’s out there; he’s out there for Steve to take or leave. 

“But you’re… I just, all that time you had the whole playboy thing going I assumed… I’m sorry,” Steve says. 

_He’s sorry._ Tony freezes, his heart plummeting.

Steve seems to catch his choice of words as soon as Tony does, though, because he quickly corrects himself. “I mean, I’m sorry I assumed. I’m glad you told me, that couldn’t have been easy.” Steve’s hands are still on him, Tony realizes. He hadn’t left or looked at him in disgust or, even worse, disappointment. 

He squeezes Tony’s hands gently, then brings a thumb up his cheek. Tony must still be crying because Steve’s wiping tears away, and kissing his cheeks and his eyelids and murmuring that’s _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s really okay._

“You really don’t mind? Or thinks it’s, I don’t know, strange?” Tony has to be sure. 

“I really don’t. I mean, I don’t know a lot about it? So I want to understand it better, if you don’t mind. But I’m not missing out on the person I love because of it, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t love you less.” 

_Love. _

“You love me,” Tony repeats, because this is way too much at once, and he’d been alone for so long and he has a _heart condition_ and _this_ couldn’t be doing that any good but Steve might love him and that was worth risking everything.

“I love you,” Steve smiles at him. “Sorry, if that’s too soon, you don’t have to say it back, I just… couldn’t wait anymore.”

“I love you too,” Tony says firmly, surely. 

Steve’s mouth curls back up into that same smile Tony knows like the back of his hand and his heart threatens to burst. 

“Good,” Steve says. He draws Tony in close to him, wrapping him up in the best hug Tony’s had maybe ever, then pauses. “Is this okay?” 

Tony nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I still like other things. This is pretty high on the list, actually.” Steve’s arms feel like everything he’d been missing for so long, he never wants to leave them. 

Steve presses his face into the crook of Tony’s neck and smiles, because apparently neither of them can stop now. “We can figure out the rest. Together.”

That plan sounded just fine to Tony. 

Maybe even more than fine.


	80. Touch-Starved Steve Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some very touch-starved, pining Steve having a lot of feelings about Tony <3

“You really saved the day out there earlier, Cap,” Tony says casually. “Thanks again.” He leans over and gives Steve’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, the kind of casual, friendly touch Steve has seen him give the rest of the team a million times over, but still, he freezes, his whole body going rigid. Steve has seen Tony be this way, but it’s only ever with other people. 

Steve is rarely on the receiving end of Tony Stark’s affection. 

“At ease, soldier, it’s not so out of character for me to pay you a compliment, is it? I thought we were getting better,” Tony says defensively, running his hand down the length of Steve’s arm and misunderstanding him completely. 

Steve coughs a little to cover his surprise. “No, no, it’s not… You’re welcome, Tony, of course. We make a great team,” he says finally. His gaze must linger too long on Tony’s hand, because Tony follows his eyes and immediately snaps his hand away like he’d been burned, folding his arms tight against his chest as if to resist the temptation to touch Steve again.

_Wait_, Steve desperately wants to say. _That’s not what I meant_. But the words won’t come, caught in his throat like a paste. Tony’s mouth is a firm line now, and he nods before turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

_Wonderful_. 

Steve isn’t sure when he realized how little people actually touch him now. He grew up with Bucky always there, and they were never shy with their affection. He didn’t know how accustomed he’d been to Bucky’s playful shoves, his arms around Steve’s shoulder as they walked, his careful hands patching Steve up after yet another street fight, until he was thrust into a world without them. Then there’d been his ma, who was quick to hug and faster to grab his hand, ruffle his hair, showing her love in every maternal touch. Steve was lonely in this new world in a way that was brand new to him, and he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He didn’t have the kind of relationship with the team where he could just… _ask_ for a hug. His cheeks burn shamefully at the thought. _Pathetic_.

Instead, Steve spends the next few weeks trying to make it up to Tony, to get him to touch him again, even in passing, but Tony appears to be uncharacteristically walking on eggshells around Steve specifically. A painful combination of guilt and longing churn in Steve’s stomach whenever they’re in the same room, especially when the rest of the team is around, and he has to watch Tony throw his arm around Bruce while he sips his coffee, or massage Natasha’s hurt shoulder while they watch a movie. He knows how hard it is for Nat to get comfortable around people, and it’s not like Steve begrudges her the attention, it’s just a little hard to watch, knowing he can’t have it too.

He starts slowly, sitting next to Tony at breakfast, passing him creamer for his coffee or a plate of pancakes, just to brush their fingers together. Steve’s persistent, and after a few times, Tony meets his eye and gives him a tentative smile, like he doesn’t want to press his luck. 

It’s a start.

In the meantime, Steve pretends it doesn’t bother him to see Tony give Thor a long hug goodbye, draping his cape around his shoulders before he leaves for Asgard. He has to turn away when he walks into the gym to see Tony extending a hand and helping Clint up after a sparring session. Really. _Clint_.

One night, he brings a cup of tea down to Tony in the lab. Steve can’t sleep, and he can think of just one other person who might be awake. The tea is warm in his hand, and Steve clears his throat to alert Tony to his presence before he can talk himself out of it. Tony looks pleased enough to see him, though, gesturing with his head for Steve to come in. He doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Tony takes the mug gratefully, breathing in the steam and taking a careful sip. “It’s not coffee, but it smells amazing. Thanks, Steve. What are you doing up at this hour? Though I guess you don’t need much more beauty rest.” Tony seems to think twice about this comment as soon as it leaves his mouth, shooting a worried look Steve’s way, but he’s too distracted by the flush of warmth rolling through him to notice it. 

Steve laughs and gives a little shrug. “I don’t know about that,” he says. “I had a nightmare, needed to get out of my room.” Admitting it is easier in the comfortable quiet of the lab, with nothing but the whirring of the bots around them. 

“Yeah, I know all about that,” Tony says sympathetically. “Feel free to hang out down here, I’ll be up for a little while yet.” He motions to the sofa tucked in the corner, which suddenly looks to Steve like the most welcoming space in the world, small as it might be. He reaches out and squeezes Tony’s hand, just briefly, but enough.

“Thanks, Tony, I think I might. You shouldn’t stay up too late either, though,” Steve says. He tries not to read too much into the pleasantly surprised look on Tony’s face as he releases his hand and makes himself comfortable on his couch, mug in hand. 

Steve must be comfortable enough that he falls asleep, because he wakes up hours later, his body is stiff from having slept on a sofa made for a much smaller person, yet deliciously warm. As he blinks himself awake, he remembers where he is, becoming acutely aware of the weight surrounding him. At some point during the night, Tony had joined him on the couch, and now they were pressed together tightly, Tony’s arm thrown haphazardly across Steve’s middle. He tries to steady his breathing, his heart beating haphazardly at this realization, and Steve thinks dazedly that he might never have trouble sleeping again, if he could just sleep like this from now on. The bad back would be a welcome trade for waking up to the pleasant sensation of Tony curled around him. His breath was warm against Steve’s neck, tickling the hair at the nape, and he had Steve pulled in tight, like he might keep the nightmares away if he just held him close enough. Steve sighs, content, and feels sleep pull him back in. 

When he wakes up again, it’s much later, and he’s alone on the sofa once again. Steve does his best to swallow down the disappointment at the loss of contact, picking himself up and dragging himself to the elevator, to lick his wounds in the privacy of his own room. 

Steve knows it didn’t mean anything, but his brain keeps replaying that night in the lab, an endless loop of affection he won’t get to have again. _Just get over it, Rogers_, he implores himself. He goes through a record thirty punching bags that week, trying to distract himself from his own mind in the gym when he should be sleeping.

“You know I’ll buy you as many of these as you need, but your knuckles have gotta be crying for a break right now.” Tony’s voice in the otherwise silent gym startles Steve, and he whirls around. His fists were close to bleeding, Tony was right, and he hadn’t even noticed. Had barely felt it, really, he’d been so focused on the bag and the energy.

“Oh, I’m… yeah, probably,” Steve says sheepishly, looking down at his battered hands. It was the first time they’ve been alone since their little… _incident_, and Steve’s nervous, feeling suddenly shy at Tony’s eyes on him. 

“Let me look at that,” Tony offers, crossing the room and taking Steve’s hands in his. He holds them so carefully, Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He really has to stop losing it at every touch Tony gave him, but he just… can’t help it. 

“It’s not that bad, I heal quick,” Steve says, half tempted to yank his hands back, half wanting to beg Tony to never let them go. 

“You do, but that doesn’t mean you should suffer in the meantime. Come on, there’s a first aid kit down here somewhere…” Tony wraps a hand around Steve’s wrist, like he might try to turn and flee rather than have Tony help him, and leads them to the cabinet in the corner. There is indeed a first aid kit inside, and Tony pulls out anti-bacterial and gauze while Steve perches himself on a stack of fallen punching bags. He tries to focus on keeping his breathing even. 

Tony’s holding his hands again though, so careful and warm Steve wants to drink the moment in. “This might sting a bit,” Tony warns softly, smoothing the cream over Steve’s knuckles. He sucks in a breath despite the warning, and Tony looks at him apologetically. 

“Sorry,” he says, like it’s hurting him more than Steve to do it. He winds the gauze around his hands with patience and care Steve has only seen him use in the lab, and he sighs.

“Almost done,” Tony says, uncertain once again. Steve hates it, this dance they’ve been doing. He hates watching Tony, the most tactile person he’s ever known, be affectionate with every person they know, but not him. He hates that they’ve barely spoken since that night in the lab, hates that he’s slept even less. He hates that he misses Tony like a limb, when he wasn’t even Steve’s to miss. 

It was torture, all of it.

“Tony,” Steve says, just as Tony says “Done,” and they look at each other and laugh a little. 

“Oh,” Steve says. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to let them get so bad.” He looks down at his hands, securely bandaged but still tucked in Tony’s hands, then hazards a glance up. 

Tony’s looking at him with concern, paired with something else Steve can’t quite put a name to. 

“Any time, Steve. It’s the least I can do after throwing myself in bed with you the other night. I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, by the way. I just… I know you don’t like it, being touched, and I just… I’m an octopus when I sleep, Pep always said so, and I’m just. I’m sorry.” Tony looks like this little speech is killing him, but Steve’s stuck on just one piece of it. 

“I don’t like being touched?” Is that what he really thought? After everything?

“Well, yeah. I mean, don’t you?” Tony asks, eyes going confused now.

“I do like it, I’m just not… used to it? I like it more when it’s you,” Steve says. It’s like he’s watching himself from above, like this isn’t really him, opening his mouth and confessing everything he feels to Tony in the middle of the gym, of all places. “People don’t touch me much these days. At least, not off the battle field.”

Something clicks in Tony’s brain, and Steve’s worried he’ll look at him with pity, but he doesn’t. “_Oh_,” Tony says. Then, “Steve.” 

He stands, letting Steve’s hands drop carefully, then pulls Steve closer to him, until his arms are enveloping Steve, all his senses consumed by _Tony_. Tony who was hugging him and not letting go. He hadn’t even had to ask. Tony’s arms are warm and strong and he doesn’t let go, just holds onto Steve until he starts to feel boneless. Being hugged by Tony was like tea on a sore throat, or a hot bath after seventy years of cold. It was _everything_. After what could have been one minute or one hour, Steve realizes that he should probably hug Tony back, so he tucks his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, breathing deeply, and hugs him tightly, pressing his eyes shut. If this was all he ever got, he was going to remember it. 

“This okay?” Tony asks eventually, and Steve laughs into his shoulder, lifting his head to meet Tony’s eye. 

“Perfect,” he breathes, knowing his face is flushed, pleased and shy. 

They go quiet again then, Tony still not letting him go, and neither of them looking away. Tony raises a hand to Steve’s cheek, brushing his thumb along Steve’s jaw, and he shivers at Tony’s soft, callused hands on his skin. He nods, like he’s confirming something they’re both wondering, and Tony leans in and brings their lips together, tentative and soft at first, then messier, teeth and tongues and months of wondering and wanting and waiting. Their hands are everywhere, face and hands and shoulders and hair, and it’s all the touch Steve has been craving for so long, threatening to overwhelm him. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says when they finally pull apart, breathing hard. It’s not exactly the reaction you want after kissing the person you’ve been stupidly pining over for months. “I thought I was making you uncomfortable, so I stayed away. I didn’t know you needed… or wanted…” Tony doesn’t seem to know how to end his sentence, so he trails off and looks at Steve instead. 

“I want it,” Steve says simply. “This. You. All of it.”

He pulls Tony back in against him, resting their foreheads together. Because now that he has him, Steve has no intention of letting him go again. Tony just grins at him, leaning up to press their lips together again. 


	81. Touch-Starved Steve Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not so touch-starved Steve and very observant Tony.

Tony learns a lot his first few months of dating Steve. He finds out that Steve is one of the most sensitive people he knows, in every sense of the word. He’s attuned to the needs and feelings of the team, he’s always there to lend an ear or a shoulder, and he has a kind word for anyone who needs it. More than that though, he reacts so completely to every touch, sensitive to every stroke of Tony’s hands through his hair, every brush of their fingers, that it’s like Tony gets to see a brand new side of the Steve Rogers he’s always known. 

He also learns a lot about _how_ Steve likes to be touched. Because it’s so much more than simply wanting physical affection now that they’ve had some time to explore this thing between them.

For example, Tony discovers that a strategically placed hand to Steve’s jaw is the quickest way to make him lose his train of thought completely. A brush of Tony’s thumb to the sensitive skin along Steve’s jaw will make his eyes slip shut like he’s been drugged, head dipping down to meet Tony in a soft, languid kiss. It’s like having access to a particular kind of magic that’s just for them, and Tony’s just as enchanted by it as Steve.

Tony learns that an unexpected hand on the small of Steve’s back will earn him a blush, a ducked head, and a pleased smile every time. Clint has told them to get a room on more than one occasion, because once Tony discovered this particular data point, he felt it was his scientific duty to collect more information, further test his hypothesis. He’d wrap an arm around Steve’s waist at breakfast, or touch a hand to his lower back as they left the tower, just to see that uneven, pinky-red flush wash over pale skin, just to watch as Steve turned to smile shyly over at him, his mouth lopsided in a grin Tony was coming to love. 

He’s all too pleased to find that his lips on Steve’s neck is a frankly dangerous combination. Steve’s neck is soft and sensitive, and even a misplaced whisper will have Steve in a full body shiver of anticipation, body prickling all over with goosebumps. If they happened to be with the team, during movie night, for example, Steve would clutch Tony’s hand, squeezing in a way that said both _not here_ and _please never stop._ If they were somewhere private, Tony would mouth along Steve’s neck, peppering him with kisses until he felt Steve’s pulse start to jackrabbit beneath his lips, and he knew to slow down just a little, give Steve a chance to catch his breath. This is one of Tony’s favorite reactions, the immediacy, the intimacy of it almost intoxicating. 

Tony knows now that Steve needs affection like he needs water, which worked out for them, really, because Tony has more than enough to give. A long hug after a long day, Steve’s face burrowed against Tony’s neck for a minute or ten, was enough to make both of them relax enough to feel boneless, reduced to nothing more than a pile of superhero-shaped goo. Tony finds that while Steve might not be the most experienced kisser, he is the gentlest, the most enthusiastic, and he gives as good as he gets. He might just be the best person Tony’s ever kissed. 

One of Tony’s favorite discoveries, and possibly the most endearing of all, is that Steve liked to be the small spoon sometimes. It’s rare, but after a rough battle or a particularly hard day, he’d tuck himself up next to Tony wordlessly, and let himself be held. Maybe it’s a remnant of his days as a much smaller person, or maybe he just liked to feel safe and protected, Tony doesn’t know that yet, but he’s sure he’ll find out; they’re both still learning, feeling things out together. 

The one thing Tony didn’t count on, through all his experiments and observations, was that _he_ needed all of these things just as much as Steve did. And more than that, he _wanted_ them. 

After all, who was he to argue with science?


	82. Pouty Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16\. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

“Tony?” Steve’s using his best Captain America voice when he lets himself into the lab. Tony looks down at the monitor in front of him and mutters a curse under his breath when he sees what time it is. Okay, so _technically_ he’d missed their dinner reservation. And maybe, _technically,_ also missed sleeping entirely. But he’s in the zone now, he was just about to have a breakthrough, he can feel it, just… there. All he needs is another swig of coffee and he’ll be good to go. But Steve doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere quickly. 

“Oh, hi, sweetheart,” Tony says, flashing him a smile. He’s oblivious to the oil smudged comically over his nose, and to the fact that his hair looks like it’s had a very recent, quite brutal encounter with a fork and an electrical socket. It’s with confidence that he gives Steve his very best puppy dog, you-know-you-love-my-zaniness eyes. His eyebrows knit together when Steve just shakes his head and laughs. 

“This is late even for you, Tony,” Steve says. “Did something explode down here?” He takes in Tony’s appearance and sniffs the air suspiciously. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“That depends, Steven, how are we defining _explode_?” Tony cocks an eyebrow. 

“That’s all the answer I need from my mad-scientist husband, thank you,” Steve laughs. “Come on, come to bed with me.”

Tony stalls, pretending to be distracted by something on his screen and lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s long since gone cold and putrid, and he scowls into the mug. “Yes. I will do that. In just a minute, Steve. I’ll be up in, oh, say an hour? I have one more thing to knock into place and then I know I’ll—HEY!” Tony’s still talking when Steve crosses the room in three giant strides and hoists him up and over his shoulder, mug still in hand. 

“Tomorrow’s another day. You stay down here any longer they’ll have to call the CDC to investigate the smells.” 

“Unhand me, Steve, come on, I’ll come up, I just have to—”

“Kiss your husband goodnight for the first time in three days?” Steve finishes for him. They’ve reached the elevator now, and he sets Tony down carefully, pressing the button for the penthouse as the doors slide closed behind them. 

“Three days? No, it couldn’t have been…” Tony does some mental math. How long _had_ he been down there? Come to think of it, his eyes are kind of heavy. And some water might be nice. Laying with Steve in their bed, too… 

“Three days, darling,” Steve smiles at the pout Tony gives him when he realizes Steve is right, that he’d managed to lose track of time completely for_ three whole days_. “Don’t worry, I’m sure the grease comes off. Your hair though, that might be a longer fix,” Steve says with a laugh. “In the meantime, come here.” 

Steve leans down and twines their hands together, then tilts Tony’s face up and kisses away the pout, the tiredness, the determined energy of the last three days until he feels Tony going boneless against him, humming contentedly.

“Yeah. Okay. Steve, s’okay, work can wait. Bedtime,” Tony mumbles, taking Steve’s hand in his and dragging him through the door and into their room.

Steve lets himself be led, biting down on a smile. “Sound good, sweetheart. Welcome home.” 


	83. Anniversary Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 068: “We’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years.”

“Tones, you wanna tell me why you and Steve aren’t coming to my New Year’s Eve party?” Rhodey asks, arms folded across his chest in a way that would be very intimidating indeed to anyone who hadn’t been friends with him for nearly three decades.

Steve jumps in before Tony can answer, winding his arms around Tonys waist. “Sorry, Rhodes, it’s our anniversary weekend, Tony booked us a trip. I don’t know _where_ we’re going…” Steve shoots a look at Tony. “But that’s why we can’t come. You know we’d love to be there.”

Rhodey shakes his head. “Your anniversary was _last_ weekend,” he says. “You don’t still do that weekiversary thing, right? You’re married for crying out loud, I think it’ll stick.”

Steve and Tony look at each other. “No-o,” Tony says slowly. “It’s next weekend. December 29th. We’re going away for a long weekend.” Steve nods enthusiastically.

Rhodey gives an exasperated sigh. “I was your best man, I think I remember when your anniversary is. I was the one holding you two blubbering babies upright on December twenty-_second.”_

“That can’t be right,” Steve says, eyebrows furrowing. “I would remember that.”

“One would think,” Rhodey shakes his head.

“James Rupert Rhodes, I would trust you with my life, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think…” Tony starts to argue just as Natasha strolls into the kitchen.

“Oh, wonderful, Nat, please tell these two idiots when their anniversary is,” Rhodey says calmly.

“Last weekend. I sent you flowers, remember?” Nat asks.

They _had_ gotten flowers last weekend, but Tony had assumed it was because he’d made her a new suit and she really, _really_ liked it.

“I…” Steve rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at Tony. “I can’t believe this,” he says finally.

“You and me both, Cap.” It’s possible Rhodey’s head will never stop shaking in sheer disbelief.

“Have we…” Tony starts, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

“Yeah,” Steve says finally, pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “We’ve been celebrating our anniversary on the wrong day for the last nine years.”

“You’re kidding me,” Nat says, staring at Rhodey like he had an answer.

Tony turns to Steve. “Well, happy anniversary baby, I have nine years worth of late gifts to make up for.”

Rhodey groans, turning around. “Yeah… I don’t need to be here for this. I’ll see you next weekend.”

Tony and Steve and too wrapped up in each other to hear Rhodey muttering to Natasha under his breath.

“Two smart guys, a maximum of three brain cells between them. It’s a shame.”


	84. Weather the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 036: “A thunderstorm is rolling through town and you’re scared of lightening/thunder so I’ll protect you.”

A crack of thunder startles Tony so thoroughly that he throws the socket wrench in his hand, nearly taking out DUM-E, who clicks at him in annoyance.

“Yeah yeah, Nuts and Bolts, it was an accident, don’t give me lip.”

A louder whir. 

“Be nice or I’ll tell Steve,” Tony warns. The bots _loved_ Steve. Tony freezes. _Oh no, Steve._

_“_I’ll be back, try not to short-circuit while I’m gone,” Tony calls over his shoulder breathlessly. He takes the stairs two at a time, and he’s nearly out of breath by the time he gets upstairs. It’s dark, autumn setting in with its early sunsets and sudden storms, draping the tower in shadow by six o’clock on nights like this.

Steve isn’t in the kitchen or the common room or the gym, which means… 

Tony finds him pretending to read on Tony’s bed. It’s clear he’s not comprehending anything from the way he’s curled in on himself and breathing raggedly, his eyes darting to the window every few seconds. Something pulls in Tony’s chest at the sight. 

“Hey, room for one more?” Tony asks softly, padding over to the bed. 

Steve gives him an apologetic look. “You didn’t have to come up for me,” he says, but the relieved look on his face says otherwise. 

Steve hates thunderstorms, Tony knows. The loud, sudden noise, the wind and the rain and the cold, everything about them brought him back to the war and the ice, and Tony can’t take away his pain but he’s determined to lessen it where he can. 

“You hate these things, of course I had to come up. Might’ve gotten spooked myself. Almost threw a wrench at DUM-E.” Tony huffs a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood and prove to Steve that there was nothing wrong with how he feels. “Anyway, scoot over, there’s way more blankets where these came from, if you’re up for a blanket fort, soldier?”

Steve scoots, making room for Tony and the mountain of blankets he brought with him, then smiles, letting Tony wrap his arms around him, warm and secure. Tony knows from experience that just having someone there when he was feeling panicky helped. He does what he can for Steve, running a hand through his hair and asking him to read aloud from his book to take his mind off things.

Before long, Tony feels Steve’s breathing start to even out again, and he pulls the blankets tighter around them both; they had nothing but time tonight. Outside, the rain pummeled the windows and thunder rattled the tower down to its bones, but inside, they might just be okay. 


	85. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm cold, come closer?"

Tony shivers dramatically and gives Steve a wide, doe-eyed look. “I’m cold, come closer?” he asks. 

Steve wasn’t very far, just sketching on the opposite end of the couch, but Tony is _freezing_. They’d opened the windows earlier to let the cool fall breeze in, but the wind is picking up now and he’s only wearing a t-shirt. 

“Who told you to dress like that?” Steve frowns at him, looking every bit like a Concerned Dad. Tony bites back a laugh and Steve continues. “It’s October and you’re in a t-shirt and shorts like it’s summer.”

“Climate change is _real_ Steve,” Tony sniffs. “Anyway, come on, slide over here big guy, I’m frozen, you can’t just let me freeze.” He pretends to pout.

Steve is already moving over, though, shifting so he’s laying across the couch and pulling Tony down on top of him. He wastes no time settling in, pressing himself in tightly, every part of Steve is _radiating_ warmth. Even…

“Ah! _Tony!_ Your feet are like ice!” Steve yelps when Tony presses his feet to Steve’s calves. “Put some socks on!”

“Socks are so _far_ and you’re right here,” Tony points out, resting his still-frozen feet on Steve again. “You love me.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Steve grumbles, but the way he tightens his arms around Tony when he shivers again says more than enough. 


	86. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 001: “You’re really soft.”
> 
> 005: “I don’t wanna get up– you’re comfy.”

“Mmph,” Steve turns his head and sighs contentedly. He was laying with his head pillowed in Tony’s lap while a movie played, Tony’s fingers threading through his hair.

“Comfy?” Tony asks with a small smile. Typically he was the one getting a head massage; Steve’s fingers were made of something magical, he was sure of it. Besides, he was more the lap-laying size, when it came down to it, but tonight he’d insisted, pulling Steve down and rubbing his shoulder until he relaxed.

“You’re really soft,” Steve mumbles against his thigh.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Yeah well, we can’t all have abs of steel, some of us are pushing fifty,” he says with a grimace.

“Fine by me, you make a good pillow.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to say you love me despite my softness.”

“I don’t love you _despite_ anything, Tony, I just love you.”

That same easy smile is still there, too, because that’s Steve and he just… says things that change the entire trajectory of Tony’s thoughts.

Just like that.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, Tony chewing his lip and thinking about what Steve said, and as always, about how they ended up here together against all odds.

“Hey,” Tony says eventually. “Come up here a minute.”

Steve pretends to contemplate this. “I don’t want to… you’re comfy.”

Tony might be dating a lap dog.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it worth your while though,” Tony promises.

Steve shifts himself upright and turns to face him, smiling.

“Yes?”

Tony leans in and brings their lips together softly. “I just love you, that’s all.”

“Oh, is that _all?_” Steve teases.

“Hush, you.” Tony leans in toward him again, and they’re both quiet after that.


	87. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's been alone most of his life and now it feels like in his 40s he's finally found his place with the avengers/steve

Tony realized he was happy almost as soon as he stopped trying so hard to find happiness. 

Because happiness, he found, was something you _felt_, and something you _had_, and it could be a tricky balance. All his life, all forty-plus years, he’d been on a quest for more. More money, more success, more high-powered friends in high places, more sex. But none of those things ever left him feeling anything more than empty. 

As empty as the gaping hole in his chest. 

Then there was the long period of time where he thought he wasn’t cut out for happiness, and, more than that, he didn’t deserve it. Because really, the war profiteering merchant of death that was Tony Stark had _no right_ to be happy, not when he’d been the cause of so much misery and destruction for years and years.

Even when the Avengers and Nick Fury begrudgingly let him into their super secret boy band, taught him their secret handshake and everything, Tony felt like he was just playing pretend. He wasn’t really one of them. After all, they hadn’t even wanted him. He was self-obsessed and volatile, a danger to himself and others with his recklessness. He wasn’t a team player, they’d told him that. 

So for the longest time, even when the other five Avengers were living in the home he’d made for them, in suites he designed to be perfect for them, Tony didn’t consider himself part of the team. He was just the benefactor. The one who made everything look cool and bank-rolled the whole operation. Which was fine. He had more than enough money, and if that was how he could make a difference, well then he wasn’t opposed to it. 

He would do more if he could. He _wanted_ to do more.

But that was part of his problem.

He was selfish.

Tony Stark always wanted _more_. 

He wanted more from himself and his creations. He wanted more from his relationships, which is what drove Pepper away. And sometimes, like with Steve, Tony wanted more from his friendships, even when it was what he least deserved. 

Because Steve Rogers was _good_. The best person Tony had ever known, and he’d only known him a little more than a year now. God, that made Tony sound pathetic. To be a little fair though, because someone had to be, Steve was _technically_ a lot older than Tony. Which meant he’d had a lot more time to build up his reputation as a good guy. 

Steve was a beacon of American values, an icon, and a hero to top it all off, but Tony didn’t care about any of that. To Tony, he was just _Steve_. A royal pain in the ass, someone who would fight no matter how low the odds of winning, someone who was reliable. Tony knew he could count on Steve in a pinch. He would trust him with his life, that much was clear after the first time they fought together and Tony woke up staring into his deep blue eyes, thinking that he might never feel lost again as long as those eyes were there to guide him. 

He’d been wrong, of course, but Steve hadn’t strayed very far from his side from that moment on. In fact, that might have been the moment that solidified their friendship. That and the shawarma. Steve fell asleep in his paper-lined basket, and looked more adorable than any one person should be allowed with wrecked hair and a bruised face, but it was the first moment Tony knew he was going to be in trouble, that he was going to push the limits again. From that moment on, they were in this, whatever this whole _Avengers _thing was, _together. _And Tony?_ Well, h_e was going to ask for too much, because that’s what he always did. 

But Steve never made him feel like he was asking too much. He let Tony sit with him in the kitchen while he attempted to learn to cook. He asked for a hand here and there, but mostly Steve just seemed to enjoy Tony’s company, enjoy the simple pleasure of having someone to laugh with when he forgot to add flour to the cake he was baking for Nat’s birthday. Steve joined Tony in the lab, too, and didn’t seem to mind when Tony spent too many hours there, trying to improve himself and the team. They fell asleep down there sometimes, curled up on opposite ends of a futon like they were trying, even in their sleep, to stop from reaching out for the thing they needed most. 

Tony knew how to take what he wanted. He’d been doing that his whole life, and it hadn’t gotten him very far. Hadn’t made him happy or fulfilled or wise. But he didn’t know what to do now that the thing he _wanted_ and the thing he _needed_ was in fact the same thing. The same _person_. 

_Steve_. 

He didn’t want to ignore it, the pull between them. Steve didn’t seem to want to, either. They were always together, always so much _better_ together. They really were like magnets, even when they fell asleep tangled up together on his dingy old futon in the lab, they were an unstoppable force, pulled together despite everything else. 

Which is probably why Natasha cornered him after one movie night where he and Steve had been particularly close, Steve asleep on Tony’s shoulder only ten minutes into the movie, Tony’s hand on Steve’s thigh as if to protect him from forces unknown. 

“Have you told him yet?” Natasha asked, like this could have a simple yes or no answer. 

Tony gaped at her, pretending to be confused. “I… Told him that you’re harassing me? How could I, you only just started,” Tony quipped.

Nat rolled her eyes; she never did have patience for things like this. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Stark. But you two are good for each other, you might as well stop pretending otherwise so the rest of us can relax.” She left the room in a huff. 

In the end though, Tony doesn’t have to feel selfish, or beat himself up for wanting and taking too much from a friend. In the end, it’s Steve who kisses Tony, their fingers threaded together and their lips coming together like the magnets Tony knew they were. This new development is warm and liquid and honeyed, everything Tony had dreamed of and more. Because he’d been alone for years, wondering if he was worth loving, if someone would ever take a chance on him, see past the genius, billionaire persona to just _Tony_ and love him anyway. 

But the moment Steve’s lips met Tony’s, soft and questioning, like Tony’s mouth held the answers to all of life’s questions, Tony realized that happiness had been dancing in front of him all along. All he’d had to do, and what he was finally doing now, was reach out and take it. 


	88. Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superfamily + “Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?”

Steve and Tony’s anniversaries certainly look different now than they did when they first got married. For their first anniversary, Tony had taken Steve on a hot air balloon ride, complete with a gourmet picnic dinner, champagne, and views that would take your breath away. Not that Steve had eyes for anything other than Tony, his wind-swept curls, and the way his brown eyes turned a sweet, honey gold with the setting sun. 

Then there was the time Steve surprised Tony with a week-long trip to Bird Island, a private island bungalow for just the two of them. It was a week of hot sun, no responsibilities, and fewer clothes. They still look back at the pictures and smile as if the sun was still warm on their backs. 

That’s not to mention all the more obscure anniversaries Tony was known to celebrate, like the time they had a ten-course dinner courtesy of a world-renowned chef. Steve had wondered what they were celebrating with every mouth-watering bite, worrying what he could have possibly forgotten, until dessert came, and Tony leaned over to kiss chocolate ganache from his lips. With the kiss came a murmured explanation that they were celebrating the anniversary of their first kiss. That one was just as sweet as the first. 

Now, eleven years married and fifteen together, they’ve slowed down on the extravagance of their celebrations. They had a kid now, after all, and you couldn’t exactly whisk a toddler off on a hot air balloon at a moment’s notice. Instead, this year they decided to stay in and cook dinner together. Tony put on a mellow, jazzy playlist and opened an expensive bottle of red wine, pausing as they mixed and chopped to take Steve’s hand in his and twirl him through the kitchen, or brush their wine-red lips together in a kiss that promised more, later. They might not have international fame, but Steve thinks the meals they make for themselves, music playing in their dim kitchen with all the time in the world, taste every bit as delicious. Maybe more so. 

They’re finishing their dessert (gourmet Ben & Jerry’s, two spoons right to the container) when Rhodey gets back with Peter. They’d gone for pizza and a movie, and he was up well past his bedtime, barreling through the living room and into their laps, where their wedding album is perched between them.

“I’m home!” Peter declares as they reach down to hug him. 

“Don’t forget what we talked about,” Rhodey reminds him, saluting Steve and Tony. 

“I’m s’pose to tell you Uncle Rhodey is my favorite babysitter ever,” Peter informs them seriously. 

They laugh and thank Rhodey for winning over their son so completely, and turn back to the book, Peter peering over their shoulders.

“Who’s that?” Peter asks, pointing at a much younger Tony. 

Steve stifles a laugh and wraps his arm around Tony. 

“That’s me, squirt! What, don’t you recognize me?” 

“That’s not you! That’s not your hair, Daddy!”

Tony frowns then. Sure, he was grayer now, but _still_. No one gives a reality check quite like a toddler.

“Well, it was darker then. This was a long time ago, the day me and Daddy got married,” Tony explains. 

“Married?” Peter repeats. 

“Yep, this was our wedding day. Everyone came to celebrate. Look, there’s Uncle Rhodey, and Uncle Bucky, and Aunt Natasha…” Tony points at them, and Peter pouts as he looks, recognizing more and more of the guests.

“Why wasn’t _I_ invited to your wedding?” He asks, lower lip coming all the way out. 

Steve can’t hold back his laugh this time. “You weren’t even born yet when we got married, Pete,” he tells him. 

Peter appears to consider this. “Can I be invited to the next one?” he demands.

Steve and Tony smile and look at each other, eyes meeting over Peter’s curly hair. It might be fun to do it all again someday, renew their vows, have a big celebration like they had for all those years. 

“You can definitely come to the next one,” Tony promises, squeezing Steve’s hand in his. 

Peter cheers, and Steve feels suddenly tempted to do the same. 


	89. Song of Unrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsure Steve in his new body.

“D’you wanna come up?” Tony mumbles into the crook of Steve’s neck when they get back from dinner. It’d been lovely; murmured conversations over a bottle of wine, lazy kisses exchanged between bites of dessert, and the overwhelming feeling of wanting the night to last and last. Five more minutes, echoed in Steve’s head as soon as their evening started to wind down.

Until they got to this point, and every time, Steve would freeze, knowing his next move was to pull away and make a quick apology. 

Because Steve was an expert at saying no, at ducking out just after a long, heated kiss and a lingering glance. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Tony enough to spend the night. No, it was that he _loved_ Tony, had since the month they met, despite their somewhat rocky start. How he felt about Tony was like nothing he’d felt before, and he wasn’t sure what that meant, not yet, not here. 

“I’m kinda beat,” he says now, squeezing Tony tightly. He’s just the right amount of affectionate. He wants more, but he’s not sure he can have more. “Think I might just go up by myself,” Steve says, and he’s genuinely regretful, especially at the wounded look Tony gives him. 

“You know we, uh… don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, right?” Tony says, his eyes burning serious in the gleaming streetlights. “I’m not inviting you up to have my wicked way with you,” he says. “Not that I wouldn’t also _want_ that. I just mean—” Tony pauses, fumbling for words in a way he never has to, and Steve’s chest fills with guilt. He’s turning Tony in knots. “You can come up and… eat pie. Or watch Friends, or… we can do whatever you want,” Tony promises him. 

Steve swallows hard, nodding a few times. “I know,” Steve says in a rush. “I really am just tired though. I promise. Next time though…” Steve trails off, hoping he’s doing an okay job of being convincing enough that Tony comes back for a next time. 

“Sure, Cap,” Tony says, trying for his best genius-billionaire smile and faltering halfway. He’s let him down; Steve’s stomach turns nervously. 

“_Steve_,” Tony corrects immediately, catching himself before Steve has to say a word. He’d absurdly pleased at this. So much so that he almost reconsiders his decision not to join Tony upstairs.

He holds firm. 

“I had a great time, Tony,” Steve says, meaning it. “Have a good night.” He brushes a kiss to Tony’s cheek, then cups his jaw carefully and draws him in for another long, slow kiss goodnight. 

Tony gives him a long look, but nods, looking at him for another minute before smiling sadly and turning toward the elevator, where he rides upstairs alone.

_Next time_. Steve just needed more time.

Steve can almost pinpoint the moment that people started looking at him like he was only as good as his body, like he was a piece of meat up for purchase. Sure, when he was Captain America in the ‘40s, he was a show boy, paraded around like a monkey and made to feel like a spectacle. 

But that was then. 

When he woke up, he was sure he’d get a second chance to prove that he was worth more than that, more than this body they’d made him into. 

He’d gone into Erskine’s machine a soldier, someone who just wanted to do what was best for his country. Steve had wanted to serve, to do the right thing, and if he came out healthier, stronger at the end of it, that was a bonus. But that wasn’t why he did it. It wasn’t like he hated his old body, despite what people probably thought. He’d grown up sick and weak, and aching to be something more, but he’d never hated himself. He was mentally strong, he was brave, and he just wanted to do what was right. Those things made him a good person. Steve knew this because his ma had spent her whole life reminding him of it, and you don’t forget something like that, no matter how long you spend under the ice. 

So when Steve started going out in this new century he lived in, Steve was kind of… surprised to find that people wanted to take his picture. They wanted to be in the photo, or they wanted him to lean in and take a picture with a stranger, their heads smushed together at unnatural angles. He liked it, at first. Because this was something he knew he could do; smile for the camera, make people happy just by being there. 

It wasn’t until Steve saw his first internet headline, a photo of him helping clean up a crime scene that read _Captain Handsome Lends a Hand_, that he realized. He was a celebrity in his own right. Not quite like Tony, but something different, something _other_. Tony was known for his reputation and his tech and his generosity; how he looked was almost besides the point. Steve was known for his brawn and his blue eyes. 

He didn’t know how he felt about it then and he still doesn’t.

Tony had taken to calling him Captain Handsome after that, and it made Steve freeze, thinking back to all the dames who’d called Bucky handsome while Steve stood back, alone and shivering with the popcorn he couldn’t really afford, hoping someone would see him, look his way. 

No one did. 

But now, here’s Steve, seventy years in the future with a body he still isn’t used to, and he’s turning heads. _Everyone_ is looking his way, but he still felt the same. He was over a hundred pounds heavier, healthier than he’d ever been, and well-dressed thanks to the Avengers PR team, but he still felt like that kid from Brooklyn, with his too-short pants and too-big shirt and the heart that beat a little too hard to go to war. These people wouldn’t have wanted that Steve Rogers; how does he know Tony would have, either?

How was he supposed to reconcile all of this? The way he looked so different but still felt so much the same? It made Steve’s head spin. He knows he shouldn’t care so much, that he is what he is, but he just wants to _know_. 

So, when Tony asked him to dinner for the first time, after weeks of flirting and calling him names that made Steve blush, he’d finally given it. Just to see, he told himself. Just to find out what a real date with someone who really wanted to be there with him would be like. But Steve had fooled himself. He’d had a great time, they’d laughed and talked, and Steve had a wonderful time with Tony.

Then, on the way home, Tony had laughed at something and called him _Hot Stuff_, and Steve had nearly stopped right there on the sidewalk. Of course Tony Stark was going out with him because he was hot in the twenty-first century. They’d nearly come to blows at their first meeting, it was clear Tony wasn’t with him for his sparkling personality. 

Steve knew this, deep down, but it still hurt like a punch to the chest. 

He couldn’t very well turn down a second, third, or even fourth date, though. He was in too far by then. Had pined over Tony for too long to turn his back on him now. And wasn’t that the goal? To have someone want you as much as you wanted them? 

Steve tried to tell himself that this was the case, but then he’d think about how brilliant Tony is, how smart and kind and _funny_, even when Steve didn’t understand the jokes, and his stomach would sink all over again. He liked _all_ of Tony, and he hated the idea that Tony was just there for Steve’s new body. 

It was getting harder to detach himself at the end of the night, though. Tony’s eyes were starting to cloud over with worry every time Steve made an excuse to go to his own room alone, his mouth working its way from a disappointed frown to an understanding smile for Steve. 

The problem was, though, that once they’d spent the night together, Tony would have no more reason to spend time with him. Steve was sure of it. He was a wine and dine, one and done kind of guy, everything he said seemed to indicate this; the flirting, the knowing looks, the expensive dinners. Steve just…wasn’t ready for the ride to be over just yet. So, he tucks himself into bed, cold and impersonal, and thinks that if he can just get through one more date, he might just be able to go along with finishing out the night in Tony’s room. 

The next morning, Tony beats him to the communal kitchen. He’s waiting with two mugs, one tea, one coffee, when Steve gets there. 

“Morning, Capsicle,” he says in greeting, sliding the steaming tea mug over to him. 

“Good morning, Tony,” Steve says, smiling at the tea and Tony’s bed head. It made him want to see what Tony looked like _before_ he made his way all disheveled into the kitchen. “You’re up early,” Steve points out. It was barely eight in the morning, much earlier than Tony usually made his first appearance. 

Tony takes a dramatically long sip of his coffee, then explains. “Yeah, well, I wanted to catch you before you went on your ten mile run, or whatever that adonis bod requires every morning.” 

Steve feels his cheeks heating up. He swallows, and Tony continues.

“I have these tickets to this gallery opening this afternoon, if you wanted to go?” Tony asks. 

Steve wonders if this is a different tactic. Tony never asks him out for an afternoon date. Just dinner or drinks, or a show in the evening, things that would inevitably lead back to one of their rooms at the end. He tries not to beam at him. 

“That sounds great, Tony, but you didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“Sure I did, seemed like your kinda thing, and I want to see what you like,” Tony says simply. Steve warms from the inside out. This is… definitely different. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Do I need to wear anything special? I know these things can be kinda fancy?” He doesn’t want to wear the wrong thing, not when he has so many options now. 

“Nope, whatever your heart desires. You’d look good in a garbage bag, Steven,” Tony says. 

Steve gives a smile that’s more like a grimace before returning to his room to get ready. 

The gallery is gorgeous. It focuses on war art that is _exactly_ Steve’s kind of thing, and he drinks in the attention Tony gives him as he explains the pieces, interpreting them and pointing out small details. He revels in the way Tony looks at him, like he hung the moon, or painted the Mona Lisa. God, he really does love him, that’s the worst part. 

“If you keep this up, people are going to catch on that you’re way too good for me,” Tony teases as they continue their way, hand in hand through the hallway. 

Steve flushes at the compliment. “I don’t think that’s true,” he says. 

“Smart and gorgeous, a national icon, _and_ an artist? Please,” Tony retorts. He wraps an arm around Steve when they pause in front of a massive painting. “Way out of my league,” Tony says into his neck, breath warm on his skin. 

Hm. This gives Steve pause, but only for a minute, before he gets swept up in the art and the day and Tony. 

When they get back afterwards, Tony doesn’t invite him up, just presses a kiss to his lips and tells Steve how much fun he had. 

“I’ll see you later for dinner though, right?” He asks, like Steve might give him the slip. After a day like this one, Steve would promise him anything. He agrees to dinner. Maybe Tony likes him for more than his looks after all. 

The idea lasts until move night that evening, when Steve joins the team late, wearing a plain white t-shirt and admittedly low-slung sweatpants, and Tony catcalls him. 

“Saved you a seat, hot stuff,” he says, and Steve feels himself flush a deep, splotchy pink he wishes he could erase. 

He sits rigidly next to Tony for the duration of the movie, pretending he can’t feel Tony’s concerned eyes on him as he watches silently, from his own side of the couch. 

Things come to a head the following week, after Tony invites Steve to a Stark Industries gala with him. He has a deep navy tuxedo sent to Steve’s room, complete with a black velvet bow tie and shoes shined to perfection. By the time he’s ready to go, he feels like an extra in a barbershop quartet, but then Tony appears in his doorway and gives a long, slow whistle. 

“You clean up nice,” Tony says, voice low and eyes dark. 

Steve gives a nervous laugh, rubbing at his neck. “You too, Tony,” he says, because Tony looks stunning in all black, his curly hair tamed and gelled down, his tie so perfectly crisp and straight Steve wants to rumple it, just because he can. 

Tony tucks Steve’s hand in his and leads him out the door, the evening awaiting them. 

It goes relatively smoothly, the usual list of board members, too many rich people for Steve to keep straight, food and alcohol and people staring and snapping pictures. It’s exhausting, and he’s glad Tony isn’t here alone, he hates the idea of him facing these vultures on his own. 

As if he can hear Steve’s thoughts, Tony appears at his elbow, asking him for a dance.”C’mon soldier, just one, I won’t let you step on anyone and I won’t get handsy,” Tony promises. 

Steve pauses. “I can’t dance Tony,” he tries, knowing it’s futile. Tony’s a good enough dancer for the two of them and he knows it. 

“I got you, come on,” Tony takes his hand, soft and warm, and leads him to the center of the dance floor. He pulls Steve in close, one hand on his hip, the other clasped safely in his hand, and begins to lead them across the floor, guiding him gently. Steve’s never felt more safe than he does wrapped around Tony, being led like in his arms like this. He feels his eyes drift shut for a minute, before Tony’s voice brings him back to attention. 

“I’m really glad you came,” Tony confesses in his ear. His voice is quiet, serious now. 

“Of course. I can’t imagine coming to these things alone, I’d never want that for you,” Steve says. 

“Thanks,” Tony says, pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder for just a second. “You really do look wonderful, Steve.”

“You do too, Tony,” Steve says honestly, and something about the swell of the music, and Tony’s hand on his back makes his voice catch in his throat, because he never wants to let this go. They’re great together, and the way Tony is looking at him made him dare to think that maybe there was a chance for them to be more than… 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Tony asks, and Steve’s heart pounds, because this is it, isn’t it? The moment that could make them something more or break Steve’s heart.

He squeezes Tony’s hand and decides to take the leap. “I’d love that.”

The ride back to the tower is quiet, charged with something Steve can’t quite put his finger on, but feels a lot like love, should either of them dare to say the words out loud. 

By the time they take the elevator up to the penthouse, Tony’s tie is loose at his neck, and Steve is aching to reach out and take it from him, run a hand through his too-perfect hair, and lead him to the bedroom, even if this is the first and last time. Tony does it for him, though, leading Steve to his room and pulling him on the bed with him, Tony tucking himself in so he’s almost sitting on Steve’s lap. 

“Thought I’d never get you up here, soldier,” he says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s collarbone. 

Steve makes a noncommittal noise, but tenses despite himself.

“What?” Tony asks immediately, eyebrows coming together, worried. 

“Nothing,” Steve says, but his voice slips down on the word and Tony knows. 

“Seriously, you can tell me anything. I know you’ve been… I haven’t wanted to rush you and I still don’t, Steve. Whatever you’re worrying about you can tell me, I promise.”

And god, does Steve feel like an asshole for assuming the worst all this time, but the thing is, he still isn’t sure. 

“I’m… I don’t… I’m not really your type, I guess? So I was nervous to…” 

Tony barks a laugh. “Not my _type?_ Steve, you were my type before I knew what _type_ meant,” he says. 

Steve winces. “That’s the problem,” he says. 

“The _problem?_ I don’t think I’m following you,” Tony says, nervous now. 

“I just… when I was younger, no one looked my way. Not even a glance. Bucky set up all these ridiculous double dates, but the girls were always disappointed to see it was me who showed up, rather than Buck, or someone who looked just like him,” Steve says, feels his face warming against his will as he speaks. 

Tony opens his mouth to say something, but Steve stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. If he didn’t get this out now, he never would. 

“So there I was, the tagalong friend going on date after date and no one ever… there was never any interest. And I get it, I was sick a lot, and small, and not _soldier_ material. But then I got the serum and everyone wanted Captain America. But I’m not… I’m still me, you know? I’m still the guy buying a bag of popcorn no one wanted to share at the movies.”

“Steve,” Tony breathes now, tightening his hold on Steve’s waist.

“You don’t have to say anything, okay?” Steve says, not meeting Tony’s eyes, wondering if he’d ever be able to meet them again. “I know it shouldn’t matter anymore but…”

Tony gives him a squeeze. “Can I, though? Just one thing?”

Steve huffs a breath. “Of course you can.”

“I heard about you all my life. Howard never let me forget what a great guy you were. How worthy and wonderful you were. That’s why he was so set on finding you, that’s why he drove us all crazy with his obsession. He filled my head with the image of this perfect, selfless, smart guy, and I… I was just a kid who was desperate to meet you. I was as bad as him for a while, I think, because I’m stubborn, you might have noticed that, and I had to find you. You, Steve. Not Captain America. I mean sure, the two are tangled irrevocably, but that guy my dad was always talking about, who laid down his life, who was a hero, was you,” Tony tells him. 

“But I… you’re always calling me Captain Handsome and Hot Stuff and…” Steve trails off.

“Well, I mean, you are gorgeous, that’s no less true. Do I think I would’ve found you just as perfect then as I do now? Of course, but unfortunately I have no way to prove that. The serum made you Captain America, but it didn’t make you who you are,” Tony says this so simply, like it didn’t change life as Steve has come to know it. “There’s so much more to you than a shield and a perfect body,” Tony says. “Please, tell me someone has told you this before right now.” 

Steve is silent, thinking over everything Tony said. 

“God, Steve, you’re…” Tony hunts for the exact right words. “You’re you, I mean, a master tactician, an artist, a loyal friend, a loving, caring, kind, patient boyfriend. I mean, you’re putting up with me for god’s sake, that in itself deserves some kind of award,” Tony laughs, but Steve’s eyes are filling up embarrassingly quickly. 

“Tony,” he says wetly, unable to get further than that before burying his face in Tony’s arms. 

“All those people who wouldn’t look at you then, wouldn’t deserve you now. God, I want to say I’m sorry, but I’m selfishly glad you ended up here with me,” Tony tells him, stroking a hand through his hair. 

“Me too,” Steve manages to choke out against him. 

“So, all this time I couldn’t convince you to come up… you thought I just wanted some one night fling?” Tony asks after a minute of silence. Steve sees him try not to look hurt by this and cringes.

“I don’t know what I thought. I guess I thought anything else was too good to be true. Back then, I didn’t think you’d even look my way. I didn’t want it to be just a … physical thing, not that I don’t want that too. God, I do,” Steve adds in a rush. “I just couldn’t bear it if I loved all of you and it wasn’t the same for you,” he admits. 

“It’s the same for me,” Tony whispers. 

“Good,” Steve says, leaning in against him, breathing deeply for the first time since all of this started. Tony loved him, all of him, Steve and Cap and everything in between. He’s never felt more like himself. He twines his arms around Tony, pulling him into his lap for real this time, ready to show his boyfriend just how much he loved every _single_ piece of him, when he feels Tony still on top of him.

“Did you say love?” He asks.

Steve laughs into the crook of his neck. They both had a lot to learn. 


	90. All We Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Sleepy Steve and Tony taking care of him

“Hey, sweetheart?” Steve’s soft, sleepy voice and hand at his hip makes Tony look up from his tablet and bite back a smile. Steve’s hair is in a disarray from where he’s been leaning against Tony’s chest, and he looks like he might fall asleep right there, mid-sentence. He’s still smushed in close to Tony on the couch, and it’s ridiculous really, given the enormous bed they could be stretched out on, but Tony likes to think they both secretly prefer it this way, as close as they can get. 

“Yes, darling?” He can’t keep the smile from his voice this time, not when he sees the way Steve seems to melt into him at the pet name, blue eyes going from tired to fond and back in the space of a blink. 

“Come to bed with me?” Steve asks, as if Tony could possibly tell him no. There was a time where they’d stay up late without reason, neither wanting to admit that they were tired, or simply wanted to be in bed together without pretense. It was silly, they know that now; they’ve come a long way in recent months. Tony notices small changes almost daily, relishing the way Steve will come to him after a bad day, how Tony no longer wants to spend all his free time with bots instead of people. It’d been a long time coming, but Tony’s finding that domesticity is nowhere near as simple as he’d assumed it would be. 

“I thought you’d never ask. You looked dead to the world for a minute there, Captain,” Tony murmurs, clicking off his tablet and offering a hand to pull Steve to his feet. He doesn’t let go once they’re both upright, just keeps Steve palm warm in his, and walks the short distance to their room, the warm lamplight soothing after a long day. 

“Guess I was more tired than I realized,” Steve yawns. He flops himself onto the bed, tugging Tony down beside him. He’s too tired to bother pushing the thick comforter aside to climb beneath it, and instead, he shoves himself around it uncomfortably. Tony laughs, watching him. Steve used to make sure every piece of clothing, every sheet corner was in place before he could relax at night, and Tony finds it quietly thrilling that he can come in and face plant onto the bed without a second thought, now. He lifts a hand to Steve’s hair, carding it through carefully. 

“Can you lift up for me, just a second? You’ll freeze if you sleep like this,” Tony says quietly, tugging gently on the blankets. Steve shuffles around, letting Tony pull them out and drape them over him before switching the light off and climbing in himself. As soon as Tony’s settled in beside him, Steve drapes himself around him like an octopus, ensuring that all of their limbs are touching. Steve’s nose is pressed into Tony’s hair, his hands are on his waist and shoulders, and his ice-cold feet are slotted in against Tony’s. They sigh, almost in unison, content in their little nest of blankets.  _ Perfect _ . 

As the night goes on, Tony knows they’ll roll apart, face opposite ways, steal blankets back and forth, but for now, Steve’s breathing is evening out, and he’s pressing a sleepy, barely-there kiss to Tony’s lips, murmuring that he loves him, and for now, it’s all either of them needed. 


	91. Walk Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "holding hands in the snow."

They’re walking home one night, content and full after a late dinner, when they feel the first flakes of snow on their cheeks. Steve lifts his face up, taking in the blurry white flakes, how they fall to the ground soft and unhurried. People always assume he hates the cold and the snow, after everything, but he still thinks it beautiful in its own way, how it drapes everything in white, forcing people to slow down and spend time with the people they love while the snow falls around them. It’s peaceful, and Steve can’t help but think that the world, and New York in particular, could always use an extra dose of that. 

He blinks against the cold and zips his winter coat all the way up, turning and looking disapprovingly at the light jacket Tony has on.

“I can’t believe that’s all you wore. It’s December, Tony. You’ll get sick out here like that,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. He knows he sounds like someone’s mother, but he can’t help it. Tony is almost comically bad at anything resembling self-preservation. 

“God, you’re such an old man. You know that’s a myth, right?” Tony says, but his voice is warm and fond even as he needles Steve. One of these days Steve will get him to admit that he likes it, having someone look out for him every now and then.

“_What’s_ a myth?” 

“The whole ‘you’ll catch your death out there without a coat’ shtick. Pretty sure that’s something someone from your generation created as a scare tactic.” Tony huffs, as though _Steve’s generation_ had done him a great disservice. 

Steve pretends to contemplate this, his lips lifting in an amused smile. “Think it had more to do with the high mortality rates back then, but sure.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony pretends to concede his argument, but Steve doesn’t miss the involuntary shiver Tony gives as they walk. 

“Cold?”

“_No_,” Tony says petulantly. 

Steve reaches out a gloved hand and twines his fingers around Tony’s wrist, taking his hand and pulling him in close. They’re in the park now, not far from home, and between the darkness and the snow swirling around them, it feels like they’re the last two people on earth. They stop, and Steve pulls Tony to him, close enough that he can count the snowflakes in Tony’s hair and eyelashes if he really wanted to. 

He has other plans, though. 

“Sure about that?” Steve breathes, brushing their lips together softly at first, then more insistently, smiling into the kiss. The snow really did add a layer of magic to the evening. 

“Fine, I’m cold, but I have you, who needs a coat when I have you?” Tony presses his nose, cold as ice, into Steve’s neck, and laughs when Steve pulls away with a gasp. 

“_You_ do! A coat, and a scarf, maybe even some gloves,” Steve says, taking Tony’s hand in his gloved one. “Come on, I’ll see what I can do about keeping you warm until we get back.” He wraps an arm around Tony, his hand on his waist as they walk. It’s a little awkward, with Steve so much taller than Tony, but they laugh as they stumble-walk their way back. 

They’re breathless by the time they get home, laughing and clinging onto each other, but neither of them are cold anymore. One of these days, Tony will get Steve to admit that he likes it, having someone to take care of sometimes.


	92. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just straight up cuddling.

“How we doing?” Tony can hear the smile in Steve’s soft voice even with his face pressed into his pillow. His eyes feel heavy and he’s pretty sure his legs are jello after their earlier activities. They’re in that hazy, happy space between sex and sleep, and Steve’s hand on his lower back makes Tony shiver, still sensitive.

He rolls over, using his last little bit of energy, and is rewarded with one of Steve’s sleepy, just-for-Tony smiles; he feels his heart catch in his throat. He remembers wondering if these overwhelming feelings would pass once they settled in, once the honeymoon phase ended, but two years in and Tony is still regularly struck by how beautiful Steve is, how incredibly lucky they both are. He doesn’t think it’s the endorphins talking, either.

“You nearly killed me, soldier,” Tony says, reaching out blindly amid rumpled sheets until he finds Steve’s hand.

“Mm, you’re welcome.” Steve uses a finger to push a few stray curls from Tony’s forehead, then leans over to press kisses along his shoulder and neck until Tony shivers again.

“Steve,” Tony means to complain, but it dies in his throat when Steve laughs quietly, and Tony sees the soft, fond look in his eyes. He rolls over, letting Steve’s arms circle his waist, pulling him in until they’re laying flush against each other, and sighs happily. Tony thinks he might just sleep for a million years, just like this. They can save the world and run a business from their bed, right? He’s Tony Stark, he can make it happen.

Tony must mutter all of this aloud in his half-asleep haze, because he feels the rumble of Steve’s laughter against him, and pries his eyes open again.

“I’m not sure about all that, but we have no plans for the rest of the weekend, let’s start there,” Steve suggests, kissing the words into his neck. “I won’t move if you won’t.” It’s all so endlessly sweet, so tender, Tony might just melt away with it. He relishes these moments, this side of Steve that no one gets to see but him, and feels lucky all over again.

“I love you,” he tells him, like he’s promising something, always. Which, in a way he is; they both are. “Let’s not move until Monday?”

Steve tightens his hold on Tony’s waist and buries his face in his shoulder. “Deal,” Steve says, his own eyes falling shut now. “Love you, too.”


	93. When they fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt based on the lyrics: "when they fight, they fight, and when they come home at night, they sing I love you baby" by generationals.

“I’m sorry.”

Tony blinks at the sound of Steve’s voice. He’d hardly expected an apology; they’d both been wrong, said things they didn’t mean in the heat of the moment. It happened sometimes, and they usually wound up laughing, or cooling off in separate rooms for a few hours. It wasn’t _good_, but it was normal. Tony knew that every fight didn’t have to mean the end.

At least, he thought he did.

But their fight this morning had been loud and biting, a battle of wit and insults that left Tony feeling hollow. Then, for the first time, Steve had turned on his heel, his jaw set, and just… left. Like it was that easy. Tony didn’t think it was possible to feel that much excruciating pain without his chest hooked up to a car battery in a cave, but here he was, in agony. He wants to tell Steve he was sorry, that he knows loving him is messy and Tony doesn’t always make it easy, but he was trying. He’d keep trying for as long as it takes to keep getting it right.

His head cloudy, hands shaking, Tony did the only thing he could think to do, and headed for the workshop. The only problem, of course, was that he couldn’t focus, not with the knowledge that he and Steve were at odds, the gnawing worry that Steve might not come home at all, and then he’d be without the one thing that really mattered. Because the fights never mattered in the end. The disagreements, the tactical differences, they could work them out. It had taken nearly twelve hours and countless minor injuries in the lab, but Tony had reached that conclusion; if Steve came back, they would find a way and work it out.

So he’s almost surprised when he looks up to find Steve in the doorway. His blue eyes are dark and worried, and his mouth twists as he tries to find something more to say. Tony wants to go to him, wrap his arms around his waist and not let go, but he holds firm at his worktop.

“You left,” is all Tony can say, his voice choked with emotion.

“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” Steve looks regretful, like he’d take it all back if he could. “We were saying horrible things, Tony, and I wanted to stop it before either of us said something we couldn’t take back. But I shouldn’t have left, and I’m sorry for… everything.”

Tony swallows around the growing lump in his throat. “I’m sorry too,” Tony says, because he is and Steve’s back and he’s struck by a relief so strong it threatens to bowl him over._ Steve came back._

“Can I come over there?”

Tony nods, and then Steve’s there beside him in two quick strides, warmth radiating from him like it always does, and Tony immediately feels himself relax just a fraction at the familiar sensation. He doesn’t have it in him to pretend, had thought about this moment all day, and now Steve’s _here_. Tony wraps his arms around him, pressing his face into Steve’s chest, choosing to ignore the hot threat of tears behind his eyelids and just let the emotion roll over him in waves.

“You left,” he mumbles again, because Tony’s worst thing almost came true and Steve has to know, even if the words are nearly lost, muffled into his t-shirt, so tightly Tony has himself pressed into him.

“I know. And it doesn’t make it better, but I’m back now. I came back, because I love you, okay? I’ll always come back, sweetheart.” Steve runs a soothing hand down Tony’s back, then up and down his arms, until Tony pulls away to look at him. Steve’s eyes are earnest, a maelstrom of love and sorrow and Tony could so easily lose himself in them.

Steve leans over and strokes a thumb across Tony’s cheek, so soft and careful that Tony considers the possibility of tears once more at the touch. Instead, he just leans into it, into Steve, Steve who _came_ _back._

“I love you,” Tony says. “I’m glad you came home.”

Steve finally exhales, still not letting Tony go, and nods. “Me too, baby.”


	94. can i keep you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Casper AU in which Tony's dad owns a paranormal investigations company and Steve is a ghost

“So, to reiterate, you believe a computer can talk to you, understand your feelings, and you can talk to it, but you refuse to take on the family business? You’d rather see it die with a stranger?” Howard spit the words at Tony, the beginning of an argument they’d had countless times in Tony’s twenty-five years. 

“I _built_ JARVIS, so, yes, I believe he is capable of all of those things,” Tony said calmly. He didn’t have the patience for Howard berating him anymore. He only helped out with occasional “investigations” because his mother asked him nicely, and Tony never wanted to take his anger at his father out on Maria. She’d done too much for Tony growing up, had backed his choice to walk his own path after college, that the last thing he wanted was to let her down. Stark Paranormal could die with a stranger, Tony didn’t really give a shit, but he wouldn’t mourn the loss of it, that much he knew for sure. 

His father had made his fortune by conning scared, lonely old women into thinking their homes were haunted. He’d tell them that the only way to carry on peacefully was to hire him to exorcise their homes for exorbitant sums of money; most were too old or too scared or too confused to question it. Tony had found the practice abhorrent since he was old enough to stop believing in the ghost stories his father told him. Now, the only thing that haunted him was the legend of his father. Tony tried to compensate by helping people. He’d started a nonprofit, funded by his mother to find missing people, but he still felt it, the specter of his father lies cold on the back of his neck. 

“I don’t know where we went wrong with you, Tony. I really don’t,” Howard shook his head, left the room, and Tony could finally breathe again. He hated his father, and knew the feeling was mutual. If it wasn’t for his mother, Tony would have stopped coming by years ago. 

Now, Tony had one last visit, just one, and then he could put Stark Paranormal behind him forever. Let his father’s so-called business find a new home, and finally move on with his life. It helped that the house was abandoned. The job had been called in by a family following their mother’s last wishes, which included having the house investigated after her death. She’d spent a lot of time telling her kids that a nice man lived in her attic, and wouldn’t hear of leaving her home, even as her health declined. They thought she was losing it, never put any stock in her words, but wanted to honor her wishes now that she’d passed. It was fine with Tony; he wouldn’t have to lie, wouldn’t even have to speak to anyone, which was better for his conscience. He’d lied on Howard’s behalf one too many times as it was.

When he approached the house, though, his relief was quickly replaced with a kind of dread. He felt it right away: something was different there, like he saw it all through a kind of fog. Tony had been to his fair share of un-haunted houses. He knew the empty, hollow feeling that waited for him in those homes. Something about this one was definitely… _off_. A three-story, pre-war home that was well-kept despite its age, Tony felt like the house was humming from the moment he opened the door. He told himself he was wrong. He told himself he was imagining things, the stories of the prior owner lurked in his head, that was all. 

But as Tony walked up the creaking staircase, waving his flashlight around, he couldn’t explain the damp chill that seemed to wash over him, or the sense of unease that was crawling up the base of his spine. 

“There’s nothing there,” Tony said aloud, trying to reassure himself. “In and out, then out forever.”

“Do you always talk to yourself when you’re looking for ghosts?” A soft voice asked from somewhere well above Tony. Or maybe it was below him. He was too busy tripping up the stairs and landing with a loud oof to think much about it.

Tony dusted himself off, then glanced around. There was _no one there_. He shook his head to clear it, then continued on his way. He paused when he got to the first bedroom door, then turned the knob and went in. 

_In and out,_ he reminded himself.

He must have said this out loud, because there was the voice again. “So, you do?” It was clear as day this time, seemed to come from right behind him, and Tony whirled around, his head on a swivel as he searched for the sound of the voice. 

Nothing. 

“Hello?” Tony asked tentatively. Maybe his father was setting him up, he wouldn’t even put it past him to try and make Tony a believer with a sound machine and some special effects. He had the money and the means to make it happen, and god only knew that Howard Stark wasn’t above a cheap trick if it got him a couple bucks in the end. Or, in this case, his son back under his thumb. 

“Hi,” the voice said. It was friendly but tentative, and Tony felt goosebumps breaking out over his skin. Someone was there. Maybe it was the relatives of the deceased woman, clearing last minute things from the house. That had to be it. Thank god, an explanation. Tony laughed to himself in disbelief, but then he appeared.

A lanky, young-looking guy materialized in front of Tony, and with him, another gust of ice-cold air. Except he wasn’t really a guy so much as a presence. He was tall and thin, with hair such a light shade of gold it was almost translucent. It was just a little too long, falling into his eyes and onto skin that was definitely too pale and spectral for a living person. It went well with his eyes, though, which seemed to be completely devoid of color. He wore dress clothes that Tony had only seen in ancient photos of his grandparents: a too-big, white button down shirt, cuffs falling over thin wrists, honest to god suspenders, and black pants that had long gone out of style. Tony blinked at him in disbelief. There was no way his father had gone to this much trouble.

Tony backed away instinctively. 

“You don’t have to be scared,” he told Tony sincerely. “I’ve been here a long time, but I wouldn’t hurt you. I got used to Beth, er, Mrs. Farber? And I was sorry when she had to move on.” The… ghost? The thing — Tony couldn’t bring himself to call him a person, no matter how real he might look — in front of him looked genuinely sad at the loss of Mrs. Farber, which is more than Tony could say for any of her children. Not that it made him feel any better about whatever was unfolding in front of him. 

Tony gaped at him, then rubbed his eyes again. He was delirious, that was all. He’d stayed up one hour too many last night, working in his lab. There was no way any of this was real.

“Please don’t pass out, your heart rate is elevated and I… won’t be able to help you,” the man said to him. Tony’s heart was racing, now that he thought about it. 

“How did you…” 

“My senses are heightened, I can feel things before most living people can,” he explained. 

“So you… you’re really a…” Tony couldn’t say the word ghost out loud, not without seeing his father’s smug face before him. 

“People call it different things,” the man said lightly. “Mrs. Farber just called me her friend, that was nice. Her kids called her crazy for it though, which wasn’t. I used to be like you, and now I’m…” another shrug. “I guess the word _is_ ‘ghost’, but that usually sends people running, so I try not to use it if I can help it. Not that I make a habit of showing myself to people unless they have a certain aura about them.” 

An _aura_. Naturally. Tony definitely felt faint.

“So my aura is good?” Tony managed to ask. 

The ghost gave him a tentative smile. “Very good. Skeptical but open-minded enough to believe, and… kind,” he added. “You don’t like what Mrs. Farber’s children said about her either, which means you might be less inclined to try and get rid of me.” He looked nervous, if nervous was a thing you could still feel after death. 

Tony latched onto the word _try_, but decided to ignore it, at least for right now.

“I don’t… listen, my father sent me as part of some last ditch effort to get me to stay with his paranormal investigations business, but I’ve always thought it was bullshit. But now here you are, right in front of me, and I’m not so sure anymore. I can’t get rid of you even if I wanted to, because his business is, as previously mentioned… bullshit. And there’s no such thing as ghosts.” Tony felt compelled to add that last part, even though the words didn’t have as much conviction as they used to.

“That’s good news for me. The bad news for you is that you’re wrong, because here I am.” The ghost quirked a smile at him, and Tony huffed a laugh, because if all of this wasn’t so completely batshit insane, he might have found that smile oddly… charming. He needed to get his head examined.

“Look…” Tony trailed off, realizing he hadn’t been properly introduced to this ghost and therefore didn’t know what he was supposed to call him. To think he’d just been planning on getting in and out of one last house. 

“Oh, I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” 

“Nice to… meet you?” Can you meet someone who’s technically dead? “I’m Tony Stark,” He continued, and held out his hand, his business instincts taking over, but Steve Rogers just smiled at it sadly.

“I can’t… I’m here but I’m also not here. I can’t touch living people.” His face twisted with regret, and Tony dropped his hand to his side. _Stupid_. 

“Right, I’m sorry, I think you said that. This is all new for me. So, um, how long have you lived here? Well not _lived_, god sorry, I’m dreaming, I have to be dreaming because I can’t really be having a conversation with a ghost and keep messing it up this badly.”

“You’re not dreaming, I can promise you that much. And you’re close, I did live here for a long time. I died here in 1945 though, the war…” he trailed off. “At first I thought I was dreaming, because I was here and Ma and Buck —he was my best friend, when I was alive—were gone. But I’ve never been able to move on. I’m a little jealous of Mrs. Farber in that respect.” Steve explained sorrowfully.

Tony couldn’t imagine being stuck in the same place for so many years. He was itching to get out of his father’s business, and he’d only been part of it for a few years. Steve had been in the same place for nearly eighty, and they looked to be the same age. 

“Wow,” Tony said, because really, what else could one say to something like that? “Is that why you said I could _try_ to get rid of you? Because you can’t leave?” He had to ask. 

Steve’s face fell at that. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been here since then. From what I’ve learned over the years, there’s something I missed, while I was alive, something unfinished enough that it’s tethering me here, and until I figure it out, I can’t move on. The only problem is you can’t find out very much from the same place. Not that it’s all bad,” Steve adds. “I meet people like you, and Mrs. Farber and I remember what I liked so much about being alive.”

He sounded so wistful that Tony almost reached out to him, though, he supposed it wouldn’t have done any good. “And what was that?” Tony asked.

“The people,” Steve said simply. “You don’t meet many of them, what with being a ghost hanging around the same house for decades, but when I do, it’s just as nice as I remembered.” There was so much hope in his words.

“People can be good,” Tony found himself saying. Did he actually think that? Or was this conversation enough to make him rethink _everything_ he thought he knew? “So, what do you do up here, besides wait for new people to come by?” 

“Oh, I read a lot. I can touch things, just not people, so I…” Steve shot Tony a guilty look, then continued. “I take books, when people are sleeping. I give them back when I’m done! And I never take anything that might be noticed.” Like Tony was here to make judgments on this. “Mrs. Farber bought a lot of books on ghosts, once she realized I was here. I think it’s what made her kids think she was…” Steve trailed off, and his pale, shimmery face looked indignant. “Those were pretty helpful. It’s where I found out about the whole unfinished business thing. The only thing is, I don’t know what kind of unfinished business someone like me might have. I never made it into the army, I had one friend and a mother, and I loved them, but I was kind of… a nobody.” He looked sad again at that, and Tony was again overcome with the urge to reach out to him. 

What would happen if he did? Would it feel like cold air? Smoke? Something else entirely? Tony wanted to know. For science’s sake if nothing else. 

“I doubt you were a nobody. You seem like a good guy, and the way you talk about believing in people? That’s rare. You had to have made an impact along the way.” Tony doesn’t know why he was suddenly so sure of this, but he knew it like he knew his own name, that in life, Steve Rogers had been a good person. “Something you did for your family maybe?”

“My Ma passed before I did and I, uh, never got that far… having a family myself. I was sick all the time, which was why I never qualified to ship out with Bucky, much less go out on dates.” He looked embarrassed at this, like the rejections of his youth were still fresh. Though Tony realized that they probably were; Steve had nothing but time to think and relive the short life he’d had. Tony wanted to help him, wished for the first time in his life that his family business wasn’t a sham, that he could free Steve from the house and the ambiguous unknown. At the very least, Tony wished he could help him find whatever he’d missed in life, so that he could finally rest. 

“Hey, I’m twenty-five and my most stable relationship is with a talking computer that I built to hangout with me and can literally never leave, so don’t beat yourself up too much. Things might actually be worse nowadays, relationship-wise. At least, it seems that way for me,” Tony said. 

“Well, I’d say you have plenty of time to figure things out, but I don’t recommend waiting around. You never know what could happen,” Steve tells him. His voice was quiet now, and he gave Tony an encouraging nod and smiled a little, soft and ethereal. He felt, suddenly, like he’d known Steve for much longer than he had, and was at ease with him in a way he usually wasn’t with people his own age. What that said about him, Tony wasn’t sure. 

He cleared his throat. “Right, uh, I won’t.” A heavy silence settled over them then, and Tony wanted to say or offer something, but he knew there was almost nothing he could do for him, not without tons of research hours and time in his lab, not to mention the soul searching needed to accept that his father was actually, maybe, at least a little bit right about ghosts. Maybe he could keep him company, though, at least until someone new moved into the house; he seemed so lonely in the house by himself, especially now that Mrs. Farber was gone. 

“Thanks for not running away,” Steve said, just as Tony opened his mouth to offer to come back the next day. “Or passing out. It’s the worst when that happens,” Steve said. 

“Thanks for…” _Changing everything he believed in? Making him question things? Inspiring him to get a move on with his own life?_ All of those felt too dramatic.“…Listening to me ramble about my dad,” Tony said instead. 

Why did it feel like his feet were cemented in place? Like it would be impossible for him to go back to life as usual knowing what he did now? Steve’s haunting, colorless eyes were studying him, and the air was chilly, and Tony just… didn’t want to leave yet. It was like something had come over him, and he felt himself reach out and over, leaning in to touch Steve’s arm reassuringly the way he’d been thinking about since they started talking. He didn’t know what he expected, but his hand made contact with Steve’s arm, which Tony was vaguely aware shouldn’t be possible, and then there was a gust of wind so strong it made Tony’s eyes water at the force of it, taking all of his thoughts and questions with it. 

When Tony blinked his eyes open again, the wind had stopped and everything was completely still; even the chill had gone from the air. Steve was still there, except now he was _really there_. Standing in front of Tony, grabbing at his arms and his chest in disbelief, eyes blown open wide.

“What just happened?” Tony stuttered, feeling faint once again. 

“I’m _alive_, I think. You touched my arm and then there was that wind storm and now…” 

Steve’s eyes met Tony’s, and all at once they realized the enormity of what had happened. Normally, Tony would be trying to memorize every detail of the moment to recreate in the lab later, or debating the karmic consequences of the afternoon’s events, but he couldn’t find it in him to think about any of that just yet, because right now Steve was looking at him, and his eyes were blue, Tony noticed with a jolt, not colorless like before. Bright and blue and full of life, staring at him with unrestrained joy. He could feel himself starting to smile back at him, just as wide, like his lips were acting independently from the rest of his body. 

“How does it feel?” Tony asked, because he was having trouble deciding where to start and he had to say _something_. 

“Good. Weird. Being in a body is heavier than a remember. More… solid.” Steve wrinkled his nose at his word choice, and they laughed, their eyes finding each other once more before darting away. It all felt so much more real now that Steve was standing there in front of Tony, in the flesh. His old clothes looked more out of place than ever, his skin was still an almost ghostly pale, but Steve was undoubtedly present. 

“How can this be happening?” Tony said almost to himself. He didn’t suppose Steve had read about this in any of his contraband books. 

“It can’t be. I mean, nothing I’ve ever heard or read implied this could happen. It must have been something about this…you being here? Maybe you were what I’ve been waiting for all this time,” Steve said, his voice going soft and thoughtful. His eyes looked bottomless, and Tony felt like the force of his gaze might bowl him over just like the wind. 

His stomach did a flip. The thought had crossed his mind as soon as his hand on Steve’s arm resulted in tornado-force winds, but he hadn’t wanted to voice it. He, Tony Stark, had been the thing keeping Steve in this house? He’d waited years and years to meet _Tony?_ No way. It was almost too much to think about, though it wasn’t an unpleasant thought, either. 

They were quiet for a few long minutes, taking each other in, letting their eyes ask all the questions their mouths couldn’t voice. Steve’s eyes never left Tony’s face, though Tony couldn’t bring himself to look at Steve straight on, almost like he would disappear if Tony got too greedy with his glances. When it started to feel like the silence might just stretch out forever, Steve looked at Tony, and overcome with excitement and emotion he hadn’t experienced in decades, threw himself into Tony’s arms for a hug. Tony let Steve cling onto him, his small frame strong and surprisingly warm, before letting himself relax enough to hug him back. After a minute, maybe less, time had lost all meaning to Tony by this point, Steve started to shimmer beneath him, his eyes going wide with fear and realization. 

“No, wait! Tony. No…” But his voice was already fading, and Tony knew what was happening, even as he gripped Steve’s hand in his and held it tightly, like he could stop it somehow. The wind picked up again, gradually this time, and then just as fast as he’d appeared, Steve was gone, a whispered, barely there “thank you,” the last thing Tony heard. 

“Steve?” One minute Tony’s arms had been wrapped around Steve’s neck, his face pressed into his skin, and the next, it was as if Steve had never been there at all. The house was still now, empty in a way it hadn’t been since Tony had entered it, and he felt like he’d gained and lost more than he could comprehend in the course of a single day. He felt sick, hot and cold all over, crazy for missing someone he’d only just met, someone who’d died long before Tony had even been born. But he felt like there was a part of him that would stay in this house long after Tony walked out of it. As he turned, slowly making his way around the room, making sure that Steve Rogers was really and truly gone, Tony was torn between overwhelming sadness and hot, palpable anger, and he had nowhere to put it.

Because in the end, what was the point? What good was it, making Steve wait around in this house for eighty years for Tony, only to take him away the second they found each other? To teach Tony a lesson? Show him that he shouldn’t waste his time? He’d always known that, in a way. The only difference was that now he’d met someone who changed him irrevocably, and would never get a chance to know. Eighty years of waiting wasn’t a fair trade for the half hour they’d spent together, no matter how quick and surprising their connection to each other was.

As Tony left the house, he turned to look around one final time, then pulled the door shut tightly when he found nothing but the empty foyer behind him. He hated himself for leaving more with every step. 

***

At first, after everything, it felt almost impossible to go back to business as usual. Work, experiments, fighting with his father, all felt lackluster, like they’d lost their shine in that gust of wind that introduced him to Steve just before snatching him away again. But gradually, Tony was able to build up a decent client base, and helping people every day gave him a purpose he’d never had before. He started to feel better as time went on. Steve was still there, always in the back of his mind, but it was getting easier to take his advice and get on with his own life, too. Tony couldn’t help but wonder if they’d see each other again someday. If Steve was out there, somewhere, even if Tony couldn’t see him. It depended on the day, really, whether this possibility made Tony feel better or worse. 

Almost exactly a year from the day Tony met Steve in Mrs. Farber’s old house, it happened. It was a typical morning, all things considered: Tony got his coffee from the place on the corner with the nice baristas, pet the dogs he’d come to know from walking the same way every day, and made plans for dinner with his mother. He was looking down at his phone, utterly oblivious to the blond guy crouched down on the sidewalk tying his shoe, and he tripped right over him, sending his phone flying across the sidewalk, his coffee down his shirt, and ensuring he’d be late to his meeting.

_Wonderful_.

When he looked up though, Tony froze. It was, quite literally, like seeing a ghost. The guy was blond and blue eyed, and while he was slightly older and definitely more muscular than the Steve Rogers he’d met in that house a year ago, there was no way the similarities could be a coincidence. Tony could hear his blood rush in his ears as his heart beat overtime at the realization. _This is Steve! _His whole body seemed to vibrate with this information, and he scrambled to calm down enough to pick himself and his phone up and apologize.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention,” Tony said in a rush, holding up his phone sheepishly. 

“No, no, I was in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot,” the man said. He let Tony pull him up though, and gave him a smile as they stood there together, neither knowing quite where to look. “I’m sorry your coffee was a casualty, though.” 

Tony smiled. He was just _so familiar._

He had to know. 

“Do you, uh, walk this way often? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He couldn’t exactly tell a stranger on the street that he looked like a dead guy he met once. 

“You know, I was thinking the same about you! I’m new to the city, though. I’m Steve.” He held out a hand and Tony felt the air rush from his lungs. 

“Tony. Tony Stark.” 

Steve smiled at him, and Tony tried to focus on breathing steadily. “Can I buy you a replacement coffee, Tony?” 

Tony smiled, nodding. He wasn’t going to let whatever this was slip through his fingers. If he’d learned anything over the last year, it was that nothing was impossible. 


	95. Paper Rings

It’s the last night of the fall carnival and things seem to be winding down. It’s cooler tonight than the last few nights, but it was the only time Steve and Tony could both swing a few hours away from studying and job applications to be together. Here, they can be anyone, lost in a crowd of teenagers strolling hand in hand, parents with strollers, and over-sized stuffed animals won for sweethearts and children. The air is thick with the scent of funnel cakes and french fries and spun sugar, and Tony feels light, lighter than he has in days, like he’s a kid again, desperate for a taste of everything yet happy just to be there. 

He slows his pace and sneaks a glance at Steve, catches him smiling over at him, entirely uninhibited. Tony beams back and slips an arm around his waist, pulling Steve toward him. They’re too old for this, they know they’re too old, college seniors surrounded by high school kids and college freshmen biding their time until they can do something more alcohol-fueled, but they’re happy for the break, eager for a dose of nostalgia. 

“What are you smiling at? Hoping I might win you one of those stuffed elephants?” Tony teases. They seem to be the prize of the evening, everyone toting them along proudly. Tony would love to win one for Steve, though he knows that of the two of them it’s Steve, with four years of college football under his belt, who’s more likely to get anywhere near hitting a balloon with a dart three times over, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless.

Steve’s smile doesn’t flicker; if anything, it only grows wider. “Just happy,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “I missed you.” 

They’ve both been busy the last few weeks, between last minute projects wrapping up, finals approaching, and the looming knowledge that soon they’d leave the soft buffer of college and have adult lives, that they would need jobs and money and _stability_. This was balanced, somewhat, by the knowledge that through all of this transition, they’d have each other. Neither of them planned on leaving the city, and they’d already looked at apartments together, their relationship solid and changing with them every day, just like it had over the course of the last three years. It was the idea of waking up and going to sleep and living their lives together in the coming months that was propelling them through the stress and sleepless nights of these final few weeks. 

At the last second, Tony turns his cheek, capturing Steve’s lips in a messy half-kiss that leaves them both laughing, then pulls him over to the nearest concession stand. 

“Milkshake?” Steve asks, though he already knows the answer. They never came to a place like this without splitting a large strawberry milkshake as they walked; it was one of the first things they realized they had in common, and it had become something of a tradition over the years. 

“Obviously,” Tony says with a smile, ignoring the fact that he’s shivering already. He loops his arm through Steve’s and huddles into him, snuggling in as close as he can through their coats. Steve was always extra warm, even on nights like this, which is just one of about two billion things Tony loved about him. “Then let’s go on the ferris wheel!” Tony suggests, looking forward to a quiet ride with Steve, taking in the view of the town and the time alone, high above everything and everyone else. 

They grab their milkshake and straw, Tony shoving the wrapper into his pocket, and pass it between them as they walk. The line for the ferris wheel is short, probably due to the breezy, chilly evening, and they’re able to clamber on without much of a wait. The gate bangs shut behind them and Tony settles in against Steve’s side, his arms coming around him tightly, when they spot the commotion beneath them at the same time. 

Just below, a guy they both vaguely know is proposing to his girlfriend, surrounded by the lights and bustle of the carnival. She’s almost screaming in delight, wiping tears from his eyes, and Tony and Steve turn away at the same time, not wanting to intrude on their moment more than they already have. Tony notices immediately that Steve’s eyes look like they’re filling up, and brings a hand up to his face, brushing a finger over his cheek. 

“Sap,” he says, though he’s smiling too, and really, he gets it. He wants that: a proposal, a marriage, a _life_ with Steve that will last and last. 

“You bring it out in me,” Steve says just before he brings their lips together in a kiss that’s strawberry sweet and full of promise. 

“Hm, well if you look like that at a pair of relative strangers, just imagine your face when it’s us.” Tony means to sound teasing, but the words come out earnest and hopeful, and he knows his eyes give him away even if the words don’t. His heart races as they sit there, and even though he knows with unwavering certainty that Steve feels it, Steve wants it too, that quiet moment between the end of his sentence and the start of Steve’s feels endless. 

“I do imagine it,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “All the time.”

Tony lets out his breath, his heart free-falling in elation. “I do too. I’d do it right now if I could afford a ring you deserve,” he admits. 

“I’d say yes to you, no matter what the ring looked like. I’d say yes to a ring pop,” Steve says quietly. 

The ferris wheel chugs on, and they’re at the top now, the ride pausing to let people on or give them a view or both, and Tony remembers the straw wrapper. He yanks it out of his pocket and rolls it between his fingers, fumbling with it until it made a kind of ring shape, and holds it out to Steve. 

“Steve Rogers, I love you. I promise to love you always, and give you a much better ring someday,” Tony says, playing with Steve’s fingers until he manages to wrap the paper wrapper ring around the appropriate finger. He keeps Steve’s hand in his, aware that this is silly and maybe a little juvenile, and loving every second of it anyway. “Will you marry me?”

Steve is beaming at him, his laughter thick with emotion, and nods, smiling down at his hand like it holds the best engagement ring money can buy. “Tony Stark, I would love to.” 

Soon, the ride would end, and they’d get off, walking slowly arm in arm, warm despite the increasingly cool night, buoyed by the knowledge that even though they were graduating and this chapter was ending, they had the rest of their lives for moments like this; late nights and promises and strawberry milkshakes. That someday, Steve would make Tony cry in earnest, pulling out a straw wrapper as they stood before their friends and families and vowed to love each other always, one paper and two gold rings coming together as they fulfilled a promise that started on a carnival ride. 


	96. Sit on my lap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mob boss!Steve and student! Tony au where a meeting is going frustratingly long and Steve needs reinforcements in the form of his tiny boyfriend in his lap.

Steve’s couch is ridiculous. Plush, velvet, more expensive than Tony’s grad school tuition, probably, yet here he is, sipping a coffee and reading on his tablet while Steve is a floor away meeting with his… _associates._ Tony doesn’t expect to see him for at least another hour; these things tended to run long, and there’s been too many raised voices already for this to end early. While Tony doesn’t typically attend Steve’s meetings, he knows Steve likes having him close by; it helped him unwind once everyone finally left. Tony smiles into his mug at the thought of Steve, undeniably one of the most intimidating men in the city, undone by the press of Tony’s lips to his earlobe, or how his hands, featherlight on Steve’s chest, could make his breath catch, his face flush an irresistible pink no one else ever got the pleasure of witnessing.

He’s lost in thought when his phone lights up, dreaming of all the things he’d love to do to Steve right on this stupidly expensive couch, and it’s not until another text comes through that Tony notices. 

_Can you come down here?_

_Please._

That can’t mean anything good, Tony knows, but Steve is asking, so he sets his coffee and tablet aside, heart thrumming in his chest, and heads for the stairs. He’s met some of these people before, sure, though he doesn’t particularly _like_ them. 

He opens the door without knocking, he practically liveshere after all, and stands in the doorway taking in the ragtag group of men and women sprawled around the room. He makes eye contact with each and every one of them before his gaze settles on Steve. Tony’s first thought, as it almost always was, is _God he’s perfect_. It takes a few more seconds for him to notice how Steve’s usually perfect hair is in complete disarray, like he’s been shoving his hands into it in exasperation all afternoon, how his jaw is so tight he he could cut glass with it, and how his eyes are flashing, daring anyone to open their mouths and say something about the interruption. 

“Come here,” Steve says to Tony. “Sit with me.”

_Sit with him? Like…_Tony can feel his face flush red hot, all the way down to his neck, his whole body suddenly lit from within at Steve’s words, because surely he couldn’t mean… 

_“_Sit on my lap,” Steve says, unwavering. He gives him an encouraging nod, and, well, Tony is a strong man in his own right, but he’s helpless against a request like that. He swallows hard against the flush of uncertainty, and crosses the room in five quick strides, meeting Steve’s eye when he gets to him. A little thrill goes through Tony at the flash of love and gratitude that replaces the fire in Steve’s eyes, however briefly, at his arrival. He settles himself on Steve’s lap with ease, Steve’s hands warm on his waist, steadying him, pulling him in, reminding him quietly that he belongs there. 

His confidence bolstered, Tony buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, knows exactly what he’s doing when he exhales softly against the sensitive skin there, and smirks a little when he feels Steve relax just a fraction beneath him. The most powerful man in Manhattan, undone by a twenty-five year old in his lap. 

They look back up at the room full of people at the same time, and maybe it’s all in Tony’s head, but the mood seems to have shifted. No one knows quite where to look, like they can’t look directly at Steve anymore, not with Tony perched on his lap like that, both of them looking at ease and untouchable. 

Steve seems to realize this shift, too, because he brushes a kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth then looks up, power and order restored, finally.

“So? Where were we?” He asks, mouth set, hands still firmly on Tony’s waist. “Let’s get this over with.” His hands move down just a fraction, sitting just above Tony’s ass now, and he has to bite back a smile and keep himself from shifting in Steve’s lap. They had much more… pleasant things to attend to once this wrapped up.


	97. The best part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anon who asked for fluffy superfamily, Tony wakes up to find Steve rocking Peter back to sleep.

Tony wakes with a start, unsure what woke him up, but immediately aware that he’s alone in bed. He rolls over and finds Steve’s side empty, the sheets cool to the touch, and his stomach flips over. _Where was Steve? Was something wrong with Peter?_ Tony can feel himself start to panic, and even though he knows, deep in the rational part of his brain, that everything was probably fine, and Steve was likely just getting a glass of water, he has to be sure. He adopted Peter three years ago, and Tony was pretty sure he hadn’t stopped worrying since.

He kicks the blankets off and goes in search of his boyfriend, padding through the hallway to Peter’s room like he’s done a million nights before, and finds Steve sitting in a rocking chair, Peter on his lap as he rocked slowly back and forth. It was one of the first things Tony had bought for his son’s room, and something about seeing Steve sitting there with Peter, like it was the most natural thing in the world, made him pause in the doorway, warmth flooding his chest.

“Is my daddy your best friend?” Peter asks Steve, rubbing his eye with his fist.

Tony watches Steve smile, then pause, before answering, “Yeah. Yeah, he’s my best friend.”

Peter nods. “He’s mine too, I love him. Do you love him?”

There’s no hesitation this time. “I do, I love him a lot. Is that okay?” Steve loves Peter, Tony knows this, knows he’d do anything for him, but seeing them together like this, not a care in the world, talking about how much they love him? No amount of parenting books could have prepared Tony for this.

“‘Course,” Peter says, yawning. “Daddy’s the best. Will you always be his best friend?”

Tony must shift or make a small soft sound at this, because Steve looks up just then, smiles at him softly, then turns back to Peter. “I hope so. I think I’d be really lucky if I got to stay with you guys forever.”

Peter’s eyes are closing, but he nods, nestling into Steve’s shoulder. “Good, I want you to stay,” he whispers. He’s out like a light after that, face pressed into Steve’s shoulder as his breathing evens out, and Steve walks him over to his bed, letting him down gently and covering him with his _Cars_ blanket.

Tony opens his mouth when Steve meets him in the doorway, but Steve just smiles and presses a finger to his lips, taking Tony’s hand in his and leading him back to bed.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I woke up and heard him crying. He just had a bad dream, so I sat with him. I hope that’s okay, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You hope it’s _okay? _Baby, my kid loves you as much as I do, of course it’s more than okay,” Tony says, leaning over for a kiss. “And, I hear we’re going to be _best friends forever.”_

Steve flushes, pleased. “I wondered how long you were standing there.”

“Enough to hear about forever, and how much you love me,” Tony smiles as they settle back into bed.

“Ah, all the best parts then.”

Tony nods, trying to find something to say as emotion tightens in his throat again. As far as he was concerned, every part of his life with Steve and Peter was the best part.


	98. Weightless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets Steve a weighted blanket to help him sleep.

“Hey, Steve, c’mere,” Tony says quietly, padding into the living room where Steve sits at the coffee table, piles of mission reports spread out in front of him in a way that makes Tony’s head hurt. 

“Hm?” Steve turns and gives Tony a small, tired smile. It had been days since either of them had had a good night’s sleep, and the dark circles around Steve’s eyes are telling Tony everything he needs to know. Steve is finally home after back to back missions, and has been plagued with nightmares ever since. It’s not a rare occurrence, but they always seemed to be worse after time away. They sound horrible, from what Steve’s told Tony, full of people falling to their deaths or Steve falling into the ice, or, on the really bad nights, he’d wake up trembling and clutching the sheets after a dream where he couldn’t save Tony. Tony’s heart hurt every time Steve woke up terrified, every time he apologized for waking Tony up with a shout or a hand on his wrist. He’d been looking for a way to help his husband for weeks now, and he might have just found a way. 

“I got you something,” Tony says, and laughs when Steve frowns. 

“Not another outfit, Tony, I can only wear so many sweaters…” 

“And you look incredible every time, I might add. But no, it’s not clothes. Just, come with me. J, hit the lights, please?” The room dims behind them and Steve starts to protest that he’s working, that he’s nowhere near ready for bed, but Tony hushes him with a kiss. If anyone deserves a break and an early night for once, it’s Steve. 

“Paperwork can wait, sweetheart, really. You’re exhausted. And I think I found you a solution,” Tony promises. 

They get to the bedroom, where, sitting on Steve’s side of the bed is a plush, twenty-pound weighted blanket. 

“Good lord, that’s heavy,” Steve says in surprise as he tries to pick it up. “You sure this is a blanket?”

“Yes. A weighted blanket. Rhodey swears by his, Steven. I figured it’s worth a shot. It’s apparently great for insomnia and anxiety and a million other things… Like a straight jacket, but for sleeping,” Tony says excitedly, like snuggling up with a straight jacket is something everyone dreams of doing. It doesn’t seem to deter Steve, though, who gives it one more skeptical glance before sliding himself down onto the bed. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Steve asks, holding out a hand and pulling Tony down beside him. “If I have to get in bed at nine so do you.” 

As if Tony would complain about something like this. 

He just nods and slips out of the lounge pants he’d been wearing, and tucks himself in next to Steve. He helps him pull the blanket up so it’s covering him completely, pulled all the way up to his chin, then watches as Steve gives an involuntary little shiver as he settles in underneath it, his face flickering surprise and relief in equal measure. Tony’s rewarded with a sleepy kind of smile, a real one, not the pinched, exhausted smiles the rest of the world gets, and something warm and primal unfurls inside him at the idea of being able to take care of Steve, even in this small way. He knows, too, that Steve wouldn’t let anyone else even try to help him, that this in itself is proof of how their relationship has grown and changed over time. 

“Oh… this is…” Steve wiggles himself around a little, yawning hugely. “Really nice, actually,” he admits. 

Tony raises an eyebrow. Somehow, he’d expected a little more fight, but then again, maybe Steve really is that tired. His long eyelashes are brushing his cheeks as his eyes open and close in a losing battle to stay awake, and Tony curves himself in towards Steve, enough that they’re both pulled under the weight of the blanket, and god, he should give Rhodey an award for this, it feels so good; it’s no wonder Steve is already falling asleep beside him. 

“Good,” Tony says quietly, running a hand through Steve’s hair, brushing the soft blond strands back away from his face. “Sleep tight.”

“Mph, I love you, goodnight,” Steve manages to say, wrapping an arm around Tony and trying to pull him closer before he drifts off for good.

-

When they wake up the next morning, Steve is stunned to realize he slept through the night, and more than that, he can’t remember a single one of his dreams. 

He turns over and finds Tony still in bed next to him, reading on his phone. 

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens,” Tony teases, leaning over to brush a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

Steve presses his face further into his pillow, reveling in the boneless, renewed feeling he has. “I don’t know the last time I slept in so late. Or so well,” Steve admits, letting Tony smile gleefully over at him, clearly thrilled by this new development. 

“Does this mean you won’t ditch me for a run?” 

Steve wraps an arm around Tony, pulling him in, both of them sleep-warm and pliant, and pretends to think about it. “I don’t know about that, but I think I can spare an extra ten minutes in bed. For the blanket,” he adds. 

Tony rolls his eyes and kisses him, still smiling triumphantly. “Whatever you say, Captain.”


	99. Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is Tony's assistant and they have a friends with benefits situation happening. The only problem is that Tony is definitely falling for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name.
> 
> Third floor on the West Side, me and you  
Handsome, your mansion with a view  
Do the girls back home touch you like I do?  
Long night, with your hands up in my hair  
Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs  
Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share  
'Cause I like you

There’s a knock on Tony’s door at midnight. He’s only been home from the office for half an hour, if that, which, of course, Steve knows. ****

Tony knows he shouldn’t answer it; they weren’t going to do this anymore. At least, that’s what they told each other every time Steve ducked out of Tony’s bed, out of his penthouse apartment and made his way back to his own third floor Brooklyn walk-up, his hair mussed, the scent of Tony’s sheets, his expensive cologne, clinging to him, an inescapable reminder of everything he wasn’t allowed to keep. 

Pulling the door open, Tony’s breath catches in his throat, the way it does every time he comes face to face with the ungodly blue eyes and all too perfect face of Steve Rogers. His _assistant_. God, Tony Stark is a fucking cliche, he knows that, and yet… 

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, Rogers,” Tony breathes. He’s looking at Steve’s lips though, full and too perfectly pink to resist after a day like this one. 

Steve fixes him with a stare, then, following Tony’s gaze, licks his lips. “Tell me to leave and I’ll go,” he counters. 

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does. No one gets to know the inner workings of Tony Stark like his assistants, after all, and this time it’s backfiring on him; Steve knows his every move. Ten years his junior, Steve Rogers had been outsmarting Tony since the first day they met. Tony remembers it like it was yesterday, how quiet and capable and _gorgeous_ Steve looked that day. His suit was a few seasons out of style, his tie just slightly crooked, but the confident way he carried himself, how he challenged Tony at every turn, more than made up for it. 

Steve’s fresh from the 24-hour gym he loves, by the looks of him: slim dark jeans, black Nikes, a plain white t-shirt stretched taut over his generous chest and arms. His hair looks damp, too, and it’s that, of all things, that undoes Tony, brings his resolve down to zero. He wants Steve in his shower, in his bed, wants to wake up and cook him breakfast. He can hardly manage scrambled eggs on a good day, but he would try it, being domestic, if it meant things were different and Steve could stay. If Steve could be his, all the time, for real. 

Before Tony can say another word, Steve reaches out, cupping Tony’s face in his hand, soft but insistent, running a thumb over Tony’s bottom lip before letting his hand drop to Tony’s chest, where he’s sure Steve can feel every erratic beat of his heart. “Tony,” Steve says, so close and warm that Tony can feel the word on his lips.

He steps aside, lets Steve in, because he always lets Steve in. Tony Stark might be one of the most well-known men in the city, one of the richest men in the world, but when it comes to Steve Rogers he was someone else entirely and this both terrified and thrilled him. 

“Hi,” Tony says now, reveling in the way Steve moves immediately into his space, how the distance between their mouths is getting smaller and smaller until Tony has no choice but to lean in and close it completely, bringing their lips together for a kiss that’s heady and impatient and asks more questions than it answers until they pull apart, breathing heavily. 

“Hi,” Steve smiles at him, slow and lazy and lighting up his face the way it always does. “That’s… the opposite of telling me to leave,” he points out, and Tony’s throat clicks. He wants to tell him that the last thing he ever wants is for Steve to leave, that it might just be physically impossible for Tony to deny him anything. That he might be falling in love with him, and it was quite possibly killing him because Steve is so young, and he _works_ for him, and it would never, ever, _actually_ work. Tony doesn’t get that lucky. 

“I’m terrible at following directions, just ask my assistant. I drive him crazy,” Tony says instead, winding his arms around Steve’s waist. 

“You are good at that,” Steve agrees, pressing kisses down the column of Tony’s neck, making him shiver, making all the doubts leave his mind. “You work too much,” Steve says suddenly, pulling away to look at Tony, his eyes full of want but also… hesitation. Like he wants to say something and was biting his tongue.

Tony shrugs, leaning into Steve’s touch for a second too long before pulling back again. “Drink?” He asks, because it’s easier than explaining. 

Easier than telling Steve that a twelve-hour work day helps drown out the fact that Tony can’t stop thinking about him. He turns abruptly towards the bar cart he keeps fully stocked, grabbing two heavy glasses, the bottle of tonic, and the hipster brand of gin Steve loves enough for Tony to keep it on hand. He mixes two drinks and holds one out to Steve, watching as he tips it back and takes a careful sip. 

It feels tense between them, but not in the usual way. Something is different tonight, like it’s about to give way once and for all. 

“You buy this just for me?” Steve asks, lifting the glass, even though he knows the answer.

“Just for you baby boy,” Tony says with a wink that’s nowhere near casual enough. Steve must hear it in his voice, because he gets that same look in his eyes, heavy and uncertain, and takes the drink from Tony’s hand, sets it on the counter beside his. He leans in and presses his lips to Tony’s for a lingering kiss, then brings his lips to Tony’s ear. 

“Let’s go to bed.” 

So they abandon the freshly-mixed drinks, the dim, inviting living room lighting, and walk the short distance to Tony’s room at the back of the apartment. Except this time, instead of the quick removal of clothes that normally follows, Steve sits himself down on the bed, all but tucking himself onto Tony’s lap, and threads his hands through his hair. Tony has a lot of product in it today for a day full of meetings, though he knows Steve hates it, so they’re quiet, Tony letting him work it out through his fingers, always so gentle. Tony’s finally relaxed, eyes falling shut in the silence, when Steve speaks again. 

“What if I didn’t leave this time?” he asks, voice measured. 

What if Tony got everything he ever wanted? Everything money can’t buy. Every blond-haired, blue-eyed thing currently sitting in his lap and asking to stay?

There are a million reasons this precarious, delicate situation shouldn’t work. Their ages, Tony’s position, his checkered history with relationships and occasionally alcohol. But Steve looks so earnest, and he’s bringing their lips together so softly, that Tony dares to let go and hope, just this once. 

“Let me stay,” Steve breathes against him. 

And Tony loves him. He loves him and someday, maybe he’ll even tell him, but for now, he wraps a hand around Steve’s waist and buries his face in his shoulder and says, simply, “Please stay.”


	100. Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something twinges inside him, and he’s suddenly sure he’ll be loving and worrying and caring about Tony Stark for the rest of his life.

They probably should’ve gone to Tony’s for the storm. But that would’ve meant leaving Steve’s bed and the warm cocoon of blankets they’d built around themselves, and that just wasn’t practical when the windchill made it feel like ten degrees out.

The whole thing felt a _little_ more like a problem now that the lights had flickered a final time and then gone out completely.

“I’m starving,” Tony says with a pout that Steve doesn’t have to see to kiss away.

“We worked up quite an appetite,” Steve agrees, doing what he can to smooth the mess that is Tony’s hair. The curls are matted in the back and sticking up on the sides and while he’ll never understand the physics of Tony Stark’s hair, it was no secret that he loved it. Loved _Tony, _and it was so much more than he thought he’d be capable of.

Steve lets a hand coast over Tony’s hip bone softly, smiling when Tony yelps at the ticklish touch.

_He’s too thin. _The thought surprises Steve, though it’s true, Tony works too much and doesn’t get enough food or sleep and despite his protests of _that’s college, _Steve can’t help but worry over him. He’s never had someone to worry about before. Something twinges inside him, and he’s suddenly sure he’ll be loving and worrying and caring about Tony Stark for the rest of his life.

“What are you smiling at?” Tony asks, interrupting his thoughts, a smile plastered over his own face.

“Nothing, just… I love you,” Steve says quietly, letting his hands wander up and down the planes of Tony’s chest, not quite meeting his eye.

“That why you can’t keep your hands off me?” Tony stops the movement of Steve’s hand, lifts it to his lips, and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I love you too, you know that, right?”

Steve looks up, finally, and even in the dark, he can see the shining certainty in Tony’s eyes. He squeezes his hand.

“I know. Now, come on, I’ll make you a candle lit dinner. I can boil water for pasta with the best of ‘em,” Steve says, nudging Tony with his foot until he laughs.

“That’s romance, baby.”

They make their way downstairs, holding onto each other a little tighter than necessary even in the darkness, neither in a hurry to let go.

The candles burn and the water boils and Steve can see it, the outline of a life, pictures on the walls and candles burning in the kitchen and love, so much of it, enough for a lifetime.


	101. Anniversary Mishap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a stomachache and Steve is very sweet.

“Ugh, some anniversary date I am,” Tony says with a groan as he flops onto the bed. He grimaces, and Steve knows his stomach is probably bothering him already, a combination of too much garlic and too much food, period. They always went a little overboard when they went to Randolph’s, though. They’d been going there since before they were married, and now, ten years in, the entire staff knows and loves them. They showed that love by showering them with excess garlic bread and pasta. 

It was  _ glorious _ . ...Until it wasn’t. 

“You’re the only anniversary date I want,” Steve tells him, shrugging out of his jacket and joining Tony on the bed. 

“I’m dying, my stomach hurts, I’m all...bloaty,” Tony pokes at his stomach and groans again. 

“Shh, you’re not dying. Here, let’s lose this,” Steve says, helping Tony loosen his tie and slip it over his head. He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, too, kissing the exposed skin beneath. He smiles when goosebumps break out in the wake of his lips.

“Any better?” Steve asks. It shouldn’t be so cute, the way Tony is leaning into his every touch, pressing his face into the pillow, but it kind of  _ is _ . It’s cute because this happens every time, and each time, Tony swears they’ll go somewhere new next time, but they never do. Randolph’s is their thing, and Steve is well equipped to help his over-full husband feel better. 

“A little,” Tony admits.

“Good. Now come here, you can fall asleep on me.” 

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice, shuffling himself over to Steve and draping himself over his chest dramatically. When he’s settled, Steve runs a hand over his husband’s stomach, before bringing it up to his hair, carding it through his hair softly.

“M’not gonna sleep. Just resting my eyes,” Tony mutters. “S’our anniversary. We gotta kiss and stuff,” he adds with a yawn.

_ Kiss and stuff _ , Steve mouths the words, grinning.

“Of course, sweetheart. When you wake up, kissing and stuff,” Steve promises solemnly. 

But Tony’s breathing is already evening out, falling asleep, like he did every year, curled in close to Steve.


	102. Sugar Daddy Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just a bunch of snippets of older, art gallery owner Steve being sweet and spoiling Tony

Tony tries his best not to fidget as the tailor finishes hemming his pants, but it’s awkward, standing there for so long. Where is he supposed to look? He certainly couldn’t stare at himself in the mirror all this time… He glances up for a second though, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing what is arguably the fancient suit he’s ever seen, and he feels, suddenly, like a child playing dress up, walking around the house in his father’s clothes. He frowns at himself, and it’s then that he realizes that Steve is very much enjoying the view. He’s smiling a small, private smile, watching the tailor work with a look on his face that makes Tony blush right down to his neck. 

“What?” He says, looking away quickly and licking his lips. 

“You look good,” Steve says simply. “You’ll be turning so many heads I almost feel bad for the artists.” 

Tony’s face grows warmer. “You’ll be doing enough of that yourself,” he argues, feeling suddenly shy, flirting like this in front of a stranger. “You really didn’t have to do all this, though. I have a suit from graduation that would’ve been fine…” 

Steve makes a sound of disagreement low in his throat. “I wanted to. I’m making you give up a Friday night for a party at the gallery, it’s the least I can do. Plus, this is just as much for me. It’s not a bad view.” Steve’s clearly undeterred, he actually  _ winks _ at him then, and a curl of warmth works its way through Tony. He thought it might be weird, Steve having so much more money than him, but he seemed more than okay with spoiling Tony every now and then, and Tony, well… he certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

*

“I saw this and decided you had to have it,” Steve says almost as soon as Tony plops down beside him on the couch. He’d worked a double shift at Starbucks and he was pretty sure he reeked of stale coffee and steamed milk, and he wanted nothing more than to nuzzle himself into Steve’s side and let him talk about nothing for the remainder of the evening. 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

Steve lifts a bag from the opposite side of the couch and hold it out to Tony, already smiling. “Yes.” 

Tony takes it and peers inside, his eyes threatening to pop right out of their sockets when he sees what it is. “You just happened to  _ see _ the brand new MacBook that  _ just _ came out today? Steve, this is way too much. I mean… thank you, but…” He can’t accept this, no matter how battered his own computer was getting these days. 

“Okay, so I went into the store and called in a favor. You still needed it though,” Steve says. “Yours is dying, and you’ll need it when you get a fancy new job,” he rationalizes. 

Tony hesitates a second longer, at war with himself. On the one hand, he really did need it, but it was so expensive, and nothing he bought Steve would ever compare. 

“I can hear the mental gymnastics happening in that brain of yours. You work so hard, baby, let me take care of things sometimes.” Steve sets the laptop box on the floor and pulls Tony over so he’s all but sitting in his lap. He peppers feather-light kisses down Tony’s jaw before bringing their lips together slowly, until Tony’s head is hazy with want and love and  _ Steve _ . 

“Fine,” he says eventually. “But I’m paying for dinner.” It’s something, at least. 

“We’ll see,” Steve smirks, kissing him again.

*

“I’m going to pay you back someday. I’m going to buy you… I don’t know, a famous piece of art or something,” Tony says as they walk through a Brooklyn boutique he never would’ve gone into on his own. He was over the moon, had just received a job offer at a green energy company he’d been agonizing over for weeks. Finally, no more coffee orders and double shifts, no more feeling like he couldn’t pay his way without scraping by. 

Yet here he is, letting Steve buy him almost an entirely new wardrobe “for work.” 

“You don’t have to pay me back for gifts, sweetheart. I love buying you nice things. You’ll be the best dressed guy in the building. Here, try this, too.” Steve hands him a blazer, it’s gorgeous, artfully made and soft to the touch and… 

“Six  _ hundred _ dollars? Steve. No.” There was expensive and then there was just flat out insane, and this was definitely the latter. 

“Just try it. For me?” Steve widens his blue eyes and tilts his head and Tony can never say no to that move, which Steve  _ knows.  _

“Starting to think you like putting me into clothes more than taking me out of them,” Tony teases him, siding his arms into the blazer; it fits like a glove. 

“Mm, I plan on doing my fair share of that, too,” Steve says with a quirked eyebrow. “Gotta help my boyfriend unwind after those long days at the office, after all.” He runs a hand slowly down the length of Tony’s arm, admiring the cut and feel of the blazer, his gaze lingering. 

Tony has to admit that he doesn’t mind the sound of that. 

They leave with the blazer, and two bags full of clothes Steve I dusted looked too good on Tony to leave behind. 

*

“What if we went away somewhere?” Steve says one night as they’re cleaning up after dinner. They’d been together long enough now, nearly two years, and had taken their fair share of weekend trips. Nothing longer than that, though, given Tony’s lack of time off. 

“What if we did,” Tony repeats. He knows Steve likely already has something in mind, and a shiver of anticipation runs through him. He’s been at work long enough now that he could take some time off. He actually  _ has _ time off to take, now, which is a blessing itself. 

“Since we both hate the winter I was thinking. What if… we went to Hawaii the week of Christmas? I was looking at this resort, and I think it might be perfect for us.” Steve pulls his phone out of his pocket smoothly, clicks around for a second and holds it out for Tony to see. It’s gorgeous, of course it is, the kind of place most people visit for a honeymoon, or an anniversary, and here was Steve, wanting to take him, just because. 

“A week laying around with you, shirtless? I think I can swing it,” Tony nearly purrs at the thought. He’s thankful for his job every day, but he’s exhausted too, the long days catching up and taking a toll on him. It’d be nice, having nothing but sun, and sand, and Steve to worry about for a week.

“Less than that if you’re lucky,” Steve smiles at Tony, then leans in to brush their lips together. “Anyway, I was hoping you’d say that. I can book it tonight. But for now, come here…” Steve draws Tony into him, and Tony lets himself go, the stress of the day giving way to the relief of Steve’s arms, the warmth of their living room, and the surety that no matter how stressful things got, they always had moment like this to come back to.

Tony doesn’t know yet that Steve has a gorgeous, outrageous ring tucked away in a drawer, waiting for the perfect, sunlit moment to ask Tony if he could love him, could take care of him, for the rest of their lives. 


	103. Liquid Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a little too much to drink. College AU.

Steve stumbles as they walk towards his room, uncertain feet tripping over nothing, and Tony reaches out for him, taking him by the wrist before he falls. Tony and the rest of their friends had been to Steve’s apartment to blow off steam, celebrating the end of finals, toasting to another successful semester, and Steve had surprised them by out-drinking all of them. He wasn’t typically a big drinker, preferring to sit on the sidelines and nurse a beer or two as the night went on, so it was strange to see this hazy, clingy side of him now.

“Okay, just walk with me Steve, I got you, okay?” Tony sounds more confident than he feels, and he tightens the hold he has around Steve’s waist. He’s all but dragging him along, and the distance between the hallway and Steve’s room has never felt bigger. 

“I got  _ you _ ,” Steve says with a huff of a laugh. He turns to look at Tony and his nose brushes against Tony’s hair, breath warm and smelling distinctly of beer, but it’s  _ Steve _ and Tony accepted long ago that his patience for one Steven Grant Rogers was nearly infinite. He certainly wasn’t going to fault him for being a little extra affectionate after a night of drinking. Tony does his best to stay focused, though. He has a plan. All he has to do is hold Steve up, get him into bed, grab supplies for the morning, and call a car home. 

He was so close but so far from being home. 

“Sure you do, big guy,” Tony replies with a smile. 

“I  _ do _ ,” Steve insists, frowning now. Tony wants to reach over and wipe it away, kiss it better, even, alcohol breath be damned, but he can’t do that. Steve is his friend, his very best friend in the world, and he wasn’t going to ruin that. He  _ definitely _ wasn’t going to do something stupid when Steve was so clearly out of it. 

“I know you do. This is usually your job,” Tony says to appease him. It’s true that Tony is usually the one being walked to bed, or helped into a car home after a night out, or, more often than not, crashing on Steve’s couch. He’d woken up on so many Saturday mornings to a blanket carefully draped over him, and Steve, prepared with bagels and coffee from the deli around the corner. 

He really was the best friend Tony could ask for.

“How’d you end up drinking so much anyway, that’s not like you,” Tony points out. They were slowly getting closer to Steve’s room, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wondering. 

“Buck told me me to stop fuckin’ around an’ make a move,” Steve says, sounding almost remorseful. “‘Liquid courage,’ he said; only I never made it to the courage part…”

_ Make a move? _ Tony’s stomach tightens. Steve likes someone  _ in their group? _ After himself and Bucky, Tony knows Steve is close with both Natasha and Sam, though he struggled to picture him with either of them since they were such close friends.

_ Can’t? Or don’t want to? _ His traitorous brain screams at him. 

“You hardly need liquid courage, Steve, anyone would be lucky to hear that you like them,” Tony says. His intention is to be encouraging, but he just sounds dangerously sincere.

At this point, they’ve reached Steve’s room, and Tony flips the light on, leading Steve over to the bed. He doesn’t have a chance to avert his eyes before Steve whips off his t-shirt and jeans, letting them fall where they land on the floor at his feet. Steve’s hips are narrow in his boxers, his chest slim but muscled, and Tony feels his face heat at the sight. 

He seriously needs to get out of here.

“Even you?” Steve blurts, so quietly that Tony wonders if he’d made it up. 

“Even me, what?” Tony asks. “Here, let me…” Steve’s struggling to get himself situated under his massive comforter, and Tony takes it from him, yanking it down so that Steve can scramble beneath it. He pulls it to his chin, and his eyes slip closed so fast Tony thinks he might be asleep just like that, and then in the morning, they can just… go back to normal. Bagels and coffee, except this time Tony would be the one bringing them.  _ Friends. _

“Y’said anyone’d be lucky if I liked them… Even you?” Steve says, eyes opening again.

Tony’s stomach is well past butterflies at this point. He has what feels like a herd of elephants taking up residence there, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to think of something to say.

“You had a lot to drink tonight, Steve.” It takes everything in him to say it. Tony had wanted this moment for years now, but not like this. He wants to know that Steve means it, because it might ruin him if he doesn’t. 

“Liquid courage,” Steve repeats defensively, the words mumbled into his pillow. “For you. So I could tell you.”

_ For me. For me. For me. _ Tony’s sober at this point, but still the words echo in his head until he’s dizzy with them. 

“Steve,” Tony starts. “You—You’re my  _ best _ friend, okay? And you had a lot to drink, and I don’t want you to say something you don’t mean now and regret it later. So I’m gonna go get you a glass of water, and maybe a trash can, and we can talk in the morning. If you still want to tell me then, I promise, I will be so,  _ so _ happy to hear it.”

This seems to appease Steve, or at least Tony thinks he sees a small, sleepy nod.

_ I’m a goddamn saint _ , Tony thinks as he fills a glass with water, his hands shaking. He brings the bathroom trash can into Steve’s room just in case, places the water on the bedside table, and is glancing at his phone when he feels Steve’s hand on his wrist. 

“Can you stay?” He mumbles softly, not letting go of him. He’s half asleep already, his hair falling into his eyes, the comforter still pulled up tight to his chin, and he looks so comfortable and sweet and  _ perfect _ , god, how was Tony supposed to tell him no?

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the couch is calling me right about now, it’s been too long since I’ve stayed,” Tony tells him.

“Too far,” Steve argues, pulling Tony towards the bed and confirming what Tony already knows: that this night will kill him. 

“Steve…” Tony tries, but Steve just looks at him imploringly, and maybe… Maybe he could sleep on top of the blankets just for now, and creep back out to the couch once Steve falls asleep, Tony reasons. “Okay,” he whispers, because he’s a glutton for punishment. “I can stay.” 

He situates himself on the bed, leaving a healthy amount of space between them, his whole body tense and rigid with nerves. For a few minutes, the room is silent enough that Tony can almost relax, but then he feels Steve shuffling beside him, wriggling himself closer to Tony until his face is pressed into the fabric of Tony’s t-shirt, resting just beneath his shoulder. Steve sighs, sounding almost content, before his breathing evens out, and he’s asleep, tucked into Tony’s side like he belongs there.

Tony would never sleep tonight, not with the way his heart was hammering, but at the very least, at least Steve was asleep on his side. 

*

Steve wakes up on the wrong side of his bed. He always sleeps on the right, and he is very definitely on the left. That can’t be right. He sits up to check the time and his head throbs in protest. 

_ Oh. _ That. Last night. Liquid Courage for Tony. 

For… 

_ Shit. _

Pounding in his head aside, Steve pulls himself up and out of bed, walks himself gingerly to the living room, hoping Tony hadn’t left, that Steve hadn’t ruined the best friendship he had in one ill-advised drunken evening. 

His heart plummets when he finds his small kitchen and living room empty – and clean, he can’t help but notice. He’s staring at his phone, wondering if he should text Tony and try to explain when the doorknob turns and Tony comes in, a bag of what can only be bagels in one hand, a carrier of cold brew in the other. 

_ Thank god. _

“Oh,” Steve says dimly. “You’re… you didn’t… bagels.”  _ Bagels _ . It’s possible he was more coherent last night. 

Tony gives him a wide, slow smile. “Bagels,” he confirms, hopping up onto the counter and sticking a straw into his cup. “But more importantly,  _ coffee _ . Which, no offense, you look like you could use.” Tony’s doing a good job, pretending that everything was fine and normal, but Steve can see it, the flashes of uncertainty in his eyes. And besides, the longer he’s awake the more Steve is remembering of the previous night. Sure, he could pretend too, let last night fade away and have things go back to normal, but… that’s not what he  _ wanted _ , not really.

“Yeah, I… thanks.” Steve takes the second cup and takes a long sip, procrastinating, which is what got him  _ into _ this mess in the first place. He sighs, sets the cup down, then looks up at Tony, who hasn’t stopped watching him since he got back. 

“Tony,” Steve says finally. “Last night… Thank you for staying. I’m sorry I was… well. I wanted to tell you that I’ve been having…  _ feelings _ , for you, for a while, but I kept thinking it’d be easier if I had a little bit of…”

“Liquid courage,” Tony smiles at him, which is a good sign, right? 

“Yeah, that. I’m sorry, I was such a mess about it, but I think I remember you saying…” 

He’s cut off by the soft press of Tony’s lips on his, warm and hesitant but undeniably happy. Tony pulls away, threading his fingers through Steve’s sleep-rumpled hair. 

“…That anyone would be lucky if you liked them.  _ Especially _ me.”


	104. No Sad Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic superfamily + potty training

“Tony! Come in here!” Steve’s shout from the bathroom sends Tony running, the excitement in his voice a dead giveaway to what must be happening. 

“What, what, did I miss it?!” Tony asks, breathlessly. He looks from Peter, perched on the toilet seat beaming, to Steve, laughing from where he stands by the sink.

“Pete, tell Daddy what you did,” Steve says, encouragingly. He shoots Tony a look like, _just wait_, and Tony laughs preemptively, noting the phone in his husband’s hand. 

“I peed!” Peter declares, waving his little fists around, triumphant. 

“You _did!?_ You’re a big boy now, that’s what that means!” Tony praises him, a little misty-eyed at the progress their son was making, how much bigger he’s starting to look every day.

“Is that all? I thought you did something else,” Steve says, looking from Peter to Tony, that glint still in his eye. 

“No, I didn’t poop! I _peed!_” Peter nearly roars the words in his little voice, he’s so adamant about it. Steve cackles where he stands, and Tony has to bring a hand to his lips to suppress his own laughter. 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Steve repeats. “What did you do again?” 

“I didn’t POOP! _I PEED!_” Peter shouts, louder this time, feeding off their energy, and a bark of a laugh manages to escape Tony, tears springing to his eyes as he tries not to laugh _at_ Peter, but _with_ Steve, and it’s proving difficult. Where had Peter learned that _voice?_ Tony bites back his laughter, trying to wipe at his eyes, and Peter looks immediately concerned. 

“Is sad, Daddy?” He points at Tony’s face, the tears of laughter still on his face. 

“No, no, you’re just funny Petey, I’m not sad,” Tony tells him. He wants to hug his tiny, hilarious, empathetic baby right there in the bathroom. 

Peter frowns, looks at Steve, and then back to Tony. “Is sad, Daddy,” he says, pointing again, less a question and more a statement of fact, now. 

Tony scrubs at his face. “No, no, I’m not, I promise, see? All gone, not sad.” 

“No sad, Daddy,” Peter says, smile returning. 

“Nope!” Tony drops a kiss to the top of Peter’s head, smiling over at Steve. “Now, how about some ice cream to celebrate this momentous occasion? Let’s get you cleaned up, sound good?” 

“Yeah!” Peter roars in the same crazy voice, sending all three of them into hysterics all over again.


	105. Perfect Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Typically, Steve wouldn’t even attempt shopping for Tony.

Typically, Steve wouldn’t even attempt shopping for Tony. His taste is so… _ him _. Expensive and chic without being over the top, every piece carefully selected. It’s become such an enviable look, in fact, that several lifestyle blogs were now doing weekly roundups of Tony’s outfits, and entire Instagram accounts had popped up dedicated to his aesthetic. This delighted Tony to no end, though frankly, Steve found the whole thing a little overwhelming, most of the time. 

_ But _.

Photographers and fans and bloggers don’t get to see the fashion choices of Tony Stark in repose. They haven’t seen Tony in the oversized sweatshirts he swipes from Steve every chance he gets, or the soft, well-loved pairs of joggers that have been washed one time too many, so much so that they’re constantly at risk of unraveling into nothing but a tangle of thread every time Steve finds them in the laundry basket. Steve also knows that there’s nothing Tony enjoys more than shedding that layer of style as soon as he gets home at the end of the day, discarding cufflinks and silk shirts for fuzzy socks, soft worn t-shirts, and cardigans misshapen with wear. 

Steve loves this side of Tony, this soft, messy side, often complete with rumpled hair from spending too long draped across Steve’s chest on the couch, or a late night followed by hours of sleep, leaving him bleary-eyed, pillow creases streaking across his cheek. Sometimes the best part of Steve’s day was kissing them away. 

Last night, though, as Steve placed a faded sweater down beside the beloved pair of joggers, he decided it might be nice to surprise Tony with something new. Something he hadn’t worn over and over again for the better part of a decade. Something that he could tuck himself into at the end of a long day, and know it’d been carefully chosen, picked out by Steve, who knew what he liked, and how often he would wear it. 

He smiled, thinking of his plan in the middle of their laundry room. 

Which is how Steve ends up in the middle of the men’s section at Macy’s, the only place he could think to go that’s both familiar and somewhat on par with Tony’s level of taste. He’s almost nervous at first, drifting through the displays; there are so many _ choices _. Even now, years after arriving in this century, it manages to overwhelm him sometimes. Eventually though, he gets his bearings, and with the help of the wonderfully patient woman on the sales floor, he starts to put together a pile of things for Tony that he feels good about. 

“He likes things..._ soft _,” Steve explained when the woman, Marcy, asked what Steve was looking for. “And things that’ll last? Like pajamas but also not pajamas. Things to wear around the house.” 

Marcy had smiled at him then, and led him through the store, pointing out t-shirts people came back for time and again, joggers her boyfriend adores, and sweaters so soft to the touch, Steve wanted to fall asleep in a pile of them. He grabbed three, black, gray, and navy for Tony, then added a fourth, in a dark green for himself, to the pile, pleased. 

“I’m impressed,” Marcy says when they finish their tour of the store. “Most guys come in looking for things and have no idea what size their partner is.”

Steve feels warmth rise in his cheeks, thinking of the time he’s spent, folding their clothes, never tiring of seeing their things mixed together like that. Thinks then of how Tony would wander in and “help,” which usually meant wrapping his arms around Steve as he folded, distracting him, or perching on top of the washer to chat. Other times, they’d stand side by side, matching up socks together. It felt silly, sometimes, but the whole thing made Steve feel closer to Tony, somehow. 

“I, uh, do the laundry, so I guess I picked it up over time,” he shrugs like it’s nothing, because it’s not something he can put into words for himself, let alone a stranger. 

“That’s really nice, I can tell how much you care about him… the way your face lights up when you mention him.” Steve definitely blushes then, bright pink and splotchy, and thanks her about a dozen times on his way out the door. 

*

Steve watches Tony’s face later that night, as he pulls things from the bag and holds them up, carefully explaining his choices, and beams when Tony’s face lights up, running his fingers over the material. 

“Steve,” Tony says, and it’s just clothes, nothing much in the grand scheme of things, Tony buys Steve clothes _ all the time, _ after all, but there’s emotion in his voice that Steve can’t miss. “Thank you, I love it. I love _ you _,” he adds, then turns and buries his face into Steve’s shoulder, mumbling something incomprehensible. 

“Come up for air, sweetheart,” Steve smiles. 

Tony lifts his head and blows out a breath. “Nothing, just… no one’s ever done something like this for me, that’s all. You knew just what to get, even the sizes, everything. Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I got,” he says, like he’s confessing something. 

Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s flushed face, more smiling into him than anything. “I know you,” he says simply. “But I’d say we _ both _lucked out.” 


	106. Draw on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nice drawing there, Cap,” Tony muttered under his breath. He turns and smiles at Steve, lest he think Tony was mocking him.

Tony always thought he was the one who had a problem paying attention in debriefs, always getting a glowering look from Fury’s eye. How is it, Tony often wondered, that the man could deliver such a menacing look with just one eye? It held all the disdain of at  _ least  _ two. That is, of course, until he started ending up (or, okay, strategically placing himself) next to Steve, and found that he was far from alone in his inability to stay focused.

He’d seen Steve writing furiously the whole time, and decided to hazard a glance to see what he was missing, what he could possibly need notes on, only to find that Steve wasn’t writing at all, but in fact, doodling. A detailed rendering of the shield, filled in with an intricate pattern, told Tony that Steve hadn’t been paying any attention for quite some time now. He smiled when he looked up at Steve and found his tongue poking out just a little between his lips, the picture of focus, an artist at work. 

Warmth worked its way through him at the sight, Steve letting himself draw was rare, Tony knew. He was glad to see him doing it, and it gave him a perverse pleasure to know he was doing it on Fury’s time. 

“Nice drawing there, Cap,” Tony muttered under his breath. He turns and smiles at Steve, lest he think Tony was mocking him.

Steve’s face was tinged pink when he looked back at Tony, smiling slightly. “Thanks, Tony. It’s… kind of a nervous energy thing,” he said quietly. 

Not quietly enough, apparently, because Fury’s eye gets even more, dare Tony say,  _ furious. _

“Captain! Stark! Pass your love notes later,” he barked. 

Steve’s face was definitely pink then, and Tony kept his eyes straight ahead for the remainder of the meeting. 

After that, Tony makes a point to sit next to Steve, always curious what he might be drawing. Tony has to bite his lip to keep from laughing the day he catches a glimpse of a drawing of Bruce, Nat, Thor and Clint as a barber shop quartet, complete with pinstripes. Another time it was Tony in the armor, faceplate up, rescuing a cat from a tree. He grinned when Steve slipped it to him afterward. 

“Cats in trees seems like more your thing, Bomb Pop,” Tony joked, though it pleased him to know that Steve saw him that way. 

Steve just shrugged and smiled before telling him to give himself more credit. 

No one needs to know that Tony hangs it in the workshop, right where he can see as he worked. 

*

Things take a turn after a particularly brutal mission, all of them slumped over, attempting to cobble together the events of the last few days. Tony knew things were bad when Steve showed up empty handed, and his heart falls a little at the realization that there’d be no drawings today.

Steve pulled out the chair next to Tony and flopped himself into it with a sigh. Fury started his spiel, and minutes later, Steve started tapping his fingers on the table with increasing intensity. 

_ It’s a nervous energy thing. _

Tony can hear Steve’s words in his head as they sit together, and he silently passed Steve a pen before laying his hand out. 

Steve shot him a look that clearly said,  _ I can’t do that, _ but Tony nodded, insistent. Steve lifted Tony’s hand, moved it closer, and Tony wondered distantly if Steve could feel the way his pulse was racing at at the touch. He did his best to ignore the gentle pressure of Steve’s pen on his skin, the careful touch of Steve’s fingers on his wrist. 

When he looked down, god only knew how much later, Steve was blushing furiously, his hand still ghosting over Tony’s palm. Only when Tony shifted in his seat did Steve move his hand, revealing a sketch of the arc reactor, filled in with intricate hearts, the word  _ dinner? _ on the outside. 

Tony’s heart caught in his throat as Steve’s eyes met his, and he managed a nod and a smile, settling his hand in Steve’s as Fury’s voice droned on and on around them. 


	107. thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony spends Thanksgiving with Steve's family. College AU.

Steve shrugs into his jacket and looks back, making sure Tony is still behind him.

“You bring him back now,” his aunt calls out to him. “We’re not done yet, right, Tony?”

Tony smiles shyly and nods, beaming over to Steve. “I don’t know,” he says, “he might’ve had enough of me this fall break. I might be getting shipped back to school.”

Steve nods, giving an exaggerated eye roll. “He’s taken enough of your money, don’t you think?”

The Rogers family has a Thanksgiving poker tradition that Tony had settled into all too easily, charming every one of Steve’s family members in the process.

“Gotta give them a chance to make a comeback, though,” Tony argues, glancing back at Steve with a sly smile.

There’s a chorus of agreements from Steve’s family, and even Cinnamon, Steve’s family dog, barked once as if in agreement.

“Just a quick walk, and we’ll be back for the rematch,” Steve reassures them. “Gotta walk off all this turkey.”

They close the door behind them with a click, still smiling at the cheers that follow them out the door, lifting their collars against the cool night air. It’s refreshing, almost too quiet after the pleasant, warm chaos of the house, and Steve’s heart is in his throat as soon as they’re alone. What had he been thinking, inviting Tony home for Thanksgiving? He’s been in love with him for two years, and now he got to see first hand how well Tony meshed with his family, how much they loved him.

They circle the block once in near silence, which isn’t unusual for them. They’ve been roommates for so long that they know how to be together in comfortable silence, no longer feeling like they have to fill every silence. Steve loves that about Tony, how he can just _be_ with Steve, when with everyone else he was always on, always talking, like he was performing, being the Tony Stark everyone expected him to be.

On their second lap around the block though, Tony breaks the silence.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says, quietly. “Your family is… amazing, really. Aunt Ruth is gonna take me for everything I have when we get back, but… I haven’t had a family holiday that didn’t end in screaming or tears or both in… maybe ever,” he confesses.

Steve’s biting his lip, overwhelmed, suddenly, that Tony was able to put into words what he’s been feeling all night. They just _fit; _it’s why Steve’s torn between not wanting to ruin what they had and wanting to change things forever, confessing how he feels, making Tony part of his family for good.

“Of course, Tony, I told you they’d love you,” Steve says, because of course they’d love Tony; they love Steve, and it was apparent to everyone but Tony how much Steve _adores _him.

“I know, but it’s your family. I wasn’t… I didn’t… it means a lot that they liked me,” is all Tony says, voice as unsure as Steve has ever heard it.

They crunch through the leaves, and they’re coming up on Steve’s mother’s house, quiet falling between them once again. Without a word, they come to a stop on the sidewalk just outside the house, Steve watching the wind ruffle through Tony’s curly hair and imagining a world where he could run his hands through it, smooth it back before pulling Tony to him for a kiss.

“Should we…” Steve starts, but Tony just looks at him, his eyes unsure in the darkness, illuminated gold by the light of the lamppost, and something in them makes Steve freeze. He opens his mouth nervously, but before he can say anything, Tony reaches down and takes hold of his wrist and the words die in his throat.

“Before we go in, I just, I hope I’m not ruining… everything, but…”Tony breathes, and time seems to stop for Steve, every moment of their friendship up to now, all the _almosts_ between them over the years flashing through his mind until Tonys lips meet his, and then everything just _stops_.

It’s soft and slow, both of them sinking into a kiss years in the making. It should be weird, Steve thinks distantly, or awkward, or any of the things he’d worried about over the years but it just feels… right. Perfect.

When they finally pull apart, they smile shyly at each other, joining hands as they walk into the warmth of the house again, feeling especially grateful this Thanksgiving.


	108. blanket burrito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony in a blanket burrito making grabby hands at Steve

All Steve can see is a pink-tinged nose amid a pile of blankets, presumably attached to Tony, who is somewhere inside the massive cocoon on their couch.

“Steve?” Tony’s voice croaks from the blankets. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he replies, amused. Last night Tony had the beginnings of a cold, and Steve can only assume it’s worsened in the last eight hours, hence… 

“I’m dying,” Tony informs him matter of factly. “FRIDAY knows what to do. Don’t let them donate the bots, I was kidding about that. And don’t give Peter the new suits until he’s eighteen. No! Twenty-one.” 

“You’re not dying, darling,” Steve laughs. Tony either worked himself to the bone or gave up completely at a case of the sniffles, there was simply no in between. 

“I can’t breathe,” Tony argues, voice congested and muffled and distinctly hopeless.

“You’re covered in about ten blankets, so I’m not too worried about oxygen flow just yet.” 

“It’s cold,” Tony argues. “And these are _yours_ I might add.” 

“Only because you insist on buying more every time I get sick.” 

Tony doesn’t seem to have a rebuttal for this, which Steve takes as a small victory. “I have coffee, which you can have in exchange for orange juice and soup,” he offers. 

A tuft of Tony’s hair emerges, matted down and messy from the blankets, followed by his flushed face, then his arms, which he holds out to Steve theatrically. 

“Coffee, you say?” 

Steve laughs, joining Tony on the couch. “Not yet.” 

Tony groans and shifts the blankets so they’re covering Steve now, too. “Fine, but only because you’re so warm. My personal space heater.” Tony slides his arms around Steve, which he’s sure was the goal the whole time. 

“Great, a one way ticket into your germ den,” Steve says, but he’s smiling at the way Tony is clinging onto him. He’s extra tactile when he’s sick, Steve’s learned over the years.

“In sickness and in health, baby,” Tony says, settling himself in against Steve’s chest and shutting his eyes, soup _and_ coffee forgotten in favor of cuddling into his husband. 


	109. the auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's involved in a blind date auction and sees Tiberius Stone in the crowd. Luckily Steve just walked in to get out of the rain.

Bucky is always saying Steve has a tendency to get himself into “situations.” Which, up until now, Steve argued was far from the truth. 

But, when he finds himself down the wrong street without an umbrella as the sky opens up, it seems only logical to go through the first door he spots. Sure, maybe it was slightly _less_ logical to stammer an agreement when none other than _Tony Stark_ catches sight of him, grabs his arms as says, breathlessly: 

“Hey, hi. You know who I am, right? Can you do me a big favor and bid on me tonight?”

Steve gapes at him. _Bid on him_?

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

Tony Stark waves his arms around, and it’s only then that Steve notices he’s dressed in a full tuxedo, complete with a red and gold tie, and shoes so well shined Steve thinks he can see his reflection in them. He looks down at his drenched, old hoodie and beat up sneakers and grimaces. He’s totally underdressed for whatever he’d just walked into. 

“This, tonight, it’s one of those blind date auctions. Pepper — my PA — roped me into it and…” Tony looks around quickly, worriedly. “You know what, it’s a long story, but I’m being auctioned off, my horrible, no good ex is out there and spotted me, and I need you to bid on me tonight. I’ll give you the money, whatever the price is, just… _don’t_ let him win.” 

“I… sure?” 

Tony takes Steve’s hand in his in an awkward, half-pleading grasp, then shoots him one last look before hurrying behind a red velvet curtain that Steve can only assume leads to a stage. 

And, well… he was already _here_. And he had pretty much nothing to lose… He might as well help Tony Stark keep away from someone so awful he would rather spend an evening with a soaking wet stranger. 

Steve can hear Buck’s voice in the back of his head as an emcee takes the stage and starts talking. _Only you would get into a situation like this, Stevie_._ Free date with the hottest billionaire in the world_.

He snaps to attention when he hears Tony’s name called, followed by deafening applause. 

“Here we have Tony Stark, leader in the green energy field, known for his contributions to sustainability and technology, his sense of style, and his quick wit. We’ll start the bidding at, oh…fifty thousand?”

_Start? Fifty_ _thousand?_

Steve swallows hard, reminding himself it isn’t his money, and that all this was probably for a truly good cause. He raises his hand. “Fifty thousand.”

Someone in the distance calls out _fifty-five_, and Steve counters at sixty, his heart racing when Tony’s eyes find him in the sea of people. 

Alright, maybe it really _is_ a situation. 

“One hundred thousand!” A voice yells out, and, oh, right, that’s _his_ voice. 

The room is silent, until the man on stage claps his hands together three times. 

“_Sold_, to the blond in the front there. Blondie, your date with the tall dark and handsome Tony Stark begins… _now_.”

*

“You doubled the bid, I’m impressed,” Tony says when Steve finds him by the same door he’d stumbled through earlier. He looks much more relaxed now, his tie undone and slung around his neck. 

“Well, it’s easy when it isn’t my money. Besides, I couldn’t let that guy win.” 

Steve couldn’t explain what came over him out there, only that he knew he didn’t want to let Tony down, and if that meant he got to spend a night with Tony Stark at a dive bar with his friends… well… that was just a bonus. 

“I’m Steve, by the way, Steve Rogers.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, Steve Rogers. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll cut a check and we can get out of here.”

Steve almost tells him they don’t have to go through with the date, that they can just laugh it all off and go their separate ways, but Tony catches his eye and he swallows the words before they even have a chance. 

“I was just going a few blocks over to meet my friends for a few drinks…”

“Sounds perfect,” Tony says, smiling. “First round’s on me. And, uh, maybe all the rounds.” 

Steve can’t help himself. He’s soaked, he knows he’s in for an earful from Bucky and Sam, even Natasha would chime in on _this_ situation, but the way Tony’s looking at him… it did sound perfect, whatever happened next. 


	110. the night before christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's away on a mission on Christmas Eve, Tony and Peter are doing their best.

“Do you think it’s enough?” Peter asks worriedly, looking from the glass of milk up to Tony, who only poured half a glass, because, as everyone over the age of five knows, milk is the worst. “There’s so many cookies and only a little milk, what if Santa’s still thirsty?”

Tony pretends to think carefully for a minute before grabbing one of the carefully arranged Christmas cookies and devouring it in two bites. “How’s that?” He asks, smiling when Peter squeals. 

“Daddy! Those are for _Santa!_” 

Tony widens his eyes. “Uh oh, do you think I’m on the naughty list now? You might have to share your toys with me,” he says. 

“I _always_ share with you,” Peter says, holding up his arms for Tony to pick him up. 

“Ah, that’s right. See, that’s why you’re on the nice list.” Tony lifts Peter into his arms and swings him around, reveling in his little peals of laughter before settling them both down on the couch, taking in their festive living room. 

They have Christmas music playing softly in the background, the stockings are hung, three in a row, from the mantle, and the tree is lit up and twinkling. It’s half covered in the hand-made ornaments Peter brought home from preschool every day for the last two weeks, while the other half is adorned with ornaments marking Tony and Steve’s milestones over the years.

_First Christmas. 5th Anniversary. Baby’s First Christmas…_

Tony sighs heavily, because even with all the lights and decorations, the cookies set out on the table, Steve isn’t there, and Christmas feels incomplete. He’s away on a mission gone long, his phone ringing endlessly, which Tony understands, there isn’t always service, he can’t always use his phone… But just because he _understood_ didn’t mean he has to like it. Tony gives another involuntary little sigh, despite telling himself time and again that he’d keep it together, for Peter if nothing else. He hadn’t celebrated Christmas without Steve in years, and he missed him even more than he thought he would. It felt half-hearted and wrong, trying to make things merry without Steve, when Tony himself felt so… 

“Do you miss Daddy?” Peter says out of nowhere, like he read Tony’s mind. He slips his little hand into Tony’s and leaves it there, and Tony’s chest heaves, his eyes suddenly burning hot. It was such a _Steve_ thing to do, he couldn’t help but be thankful for all the thoughtful pieces of Steve that Peter had picked up.

“Yeah, kiddo, I do,” Tony says quietly, giving Peter’s hand a little squeeze.

“Me too,” Peter says. “He always reads me _Night Before Christmas_ before Santa comes.” Peter’s eyes are wide and sad, and Tony wonders how he could’ve forgotten. 

“You’re right,” Tony agrees, “He does. But… I can read it, this time? Until Daddy gets back?” 

Peter gives a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s trusting Tony with something huge, then scrambles away to go find the book on his shelf. He’s settling in on Tony’s lap when Tony’s phone lights up next to them on the couch, a portrait of the three of them and Steve’s name appearing on the screen. 

Tony’s hand are shaking a little as he picks up, and Peter shouts before he can say anything. _“Daddy!”_

“Hi, Peter, Merry almost Christmas!” Steve’s voice sounds tinny and impossibly far away, but it’s still everything Tony needs tonight, and he’s tempted to screech right along with his son.

“Is Daddy there too?” Steve asks, and Tony can hear the smile in his voice.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Tony says, voice awash with emotion he doesn’t even try to suppress. “We miss you.”

“I miss you guys, too. Hopefully this will only be another few days…” It’s Steve’s turn to sound wistful now, and Tony’s heart twists at the sound of it. He’d never force his husband to retire, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to ask, or lightly suggest it…

“Daddy we’re about to read _Night Before Christmas_ and it’s not the same!” Peter interjects fretfully.

“Ah, well, you’re in luck, I happen to know it by heart, and I thought I could read it over the phone? Would that be okay?” 

Peter nearly shouts his emphatic _yes_, then settles himself in against Tony. 

“Okay, are you ready? Christmas pjs on?”

“Yes!”

“Cookies out?”

“Yeah! Come _ooon_…”

“Sweetheart, you good too?” Steve asks, because he knows, of course he knows, and Tony can only nod, even though Steve can’t see him, because he might well and truly lose it the second he opens his mouth. 

“I think Daddy’s sleepy, his eyes are shut tight, but he says yes!” Peter informs Steve. 

Steve’s silent for a minute at this, and Tony can almost feel him there, pressed in close to his side when he finally starts.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…”


	111. merry and bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU. Tony hates winter break, and Steve just won't have it.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Tony says for what feels to Steve like the millionth time that evening.

It’s freezing and gray outside, the clouds thick with the threat of snow, but for the first time since setting foot in his parents’ house a week ago, Tony feels light, like he can finally catch his breath. He knew he _missed_ Steve, but hadn’t realized how much he needed him, how much his presence calmed him, until he was without it for the first extended period of time. 

A week alone with his parents feels like a year, Tony had learned that much long ago. But then, five hours ago, the doorbell sounded, Tony’s name was shouted up the stairs, and when he’d trudged downstairs, there was Steve, like some kind of magic apparition, his very own Christmas miracle. Steve looked out of place and nervous in the inanely fancy foyer of the Stark house, but there was a duffle bag slung over one slim shoulder, a Tupperware container of cookies in his hand, and a shy smile on his lips. Tony thought he might just float away he was so overjoyed at the sight of _Steve, here._ His cheeks and nose were pink from the cold, his hair windswept, and Tony’s heart beat overtime at the realization that he wouldn’t be spending Christmas alone after all. 

“Merry Christmas?” Steve had said, and when Tony only gaped at him, he cleared his throat and asked, suddenly worried, “Was this a bad idea?” It was then that Tony managed to get his act together enough to launch himself into Steve’s arms, clinging onto him like a lifeline before ushering him upstairs to his room. 

“Shh, I know, I wanted to, though. You hate winter break, and no one should hate winter break,” Steve says simply. 

“Yeah well, that’s because it never feels like a _break_, not when Howard is breathing down my neck asking why I haven’t started my PhD yet…” Tony grimaces at the memory. Just this morning, he’d darted downstairs in search of coffee, only to be cornered by his father asking this very question. He’d gone upstairs in a huff, choking on the coffee he wanted desperately just minutes before. 

“I know,” Steve murmurs, squeezing Tony a little tighter. They’re curled up like spoons in Tony’s bed, the queen size a welcome change to the small beds at school, and Tony feels some of the tension ease out of him at the touch. “It’s nice in here, though,” Steve says, pointing to the Christmas lights Tony has strung up around his room. 

“Mm, I had to do something other than miss you and avoid my father,” Tony says with a shrug, but he’s proud of his little Christmas setup, and pleased that Steve likes it, too. Twinkling white lights are hanging from every available surface, making everything feel a little warmer. “It is cozy,” Tony admits after a beat.

“And the fire, so real,” Steve laughs, pointing at the crackling fire they have playing on Youtube. 

Tony just flicks him in response, half kidding, half to be sure that Steve is really and truly here, that he won’t wake up in bed alone tomorrow, the whole thing some kind of horrible dream. But Steve ducks, then retaliates by pressing his freezing cold feet to Tony’s calves. 

_Definitely real. _

“Your mom really won’t mind you being away from home for Christmas?” Tony asks softly. “I don’t want her to decide she hates me, I worked hard to convince her I’m great for her son.”

Steve snorts. “Please, I’m starting to think she likes you better than me. And no, she gets it. She did insist that next Christmas we make a ‘real plan’ and maybe… have you come stay for break?” Tony can hear the uncertainty in Steve’s voice, but his heart does an elated little flip at the idea of planning so far ahead for something like this.

“I’d love that,” Tony says honestly. “But you do know this means you’re stuck with me for at least a whole other year, right?”

“No self-loathing this close to Christmas or Santa won’t come,” is all Steve says in reply, but he’s smiling widely as Tony tucks his own shy smile into his neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin there. 

Sure, outside it’s frigid, and they’d wake up to snow in the morning. Maybe Howard would never get off his back about his education and future, but for now, Tony is happy, settled into bed with Steve, the lights twinkling around them, fake fire roaring. He might just have a merry Christmas after all.


	112. like it's the only thing i'll ever do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the time he was young, Howard had worked to correct Tony's tendency to glom onto anyone who showed him affection. 

Tony has never been known for his restraint. From the time he was young, Howard had worked to correct his tendency to glom onto anyone who showed him affection. **  
**

_Don’t cling onto your mother like that, Anthony._

_Suck it up, Anthony; Stark men are made of iron. _

_Stop. Slow down. Too much. Let GO._

So it’s only logical, then, for Tony to hold himself back when he thinks it matters most. Never asking for more, never wanting to push too hard, need too much; he knows it will only end in disaster or worse, disgust. Distance is better, when even he watches his relationships end, one after another. 

Maybe especially then.

It’s not their fault, these men and women who can’t make sense of him. Tony knows it’s him, it always has been. It’s easier for it to be just sex, just once, then no one has to feel any sense of obligation.

_But._

No matter how much detachment has become a way of life for Tony, it is hard, sometimes. Hard to come home to his giant home and hear nothing but the aching echo of silence. Hard to spend Christmas with business associates and strangers. Hard to never let himself just feel. 

He reminds himself that it’s for the best and he continues along. 

Until the winter he meets Steve Rogers, and has to start all over again, teaching himself not to get too close. Not to do something crazy, like hope Steve feels it, too, this thing crackling between them. It won’t go anywhere; it can’t. They meet at work, they’re on the same team. _Leaders_, they’re told. Earth’s mightiest heroes type of thing. Tony can do that. Tony can lead, he can plan, he can make things blow up. He’s good at that. 

What he can’t do is puzzle out why Steve Rogers keeps arguing with him, keeps staring at him from across various rooms, then lingering behind to chat. No one has wanted to _chat_ with Tony Stark for pleasure in a very long time.

Things keep getting hazier. They go to lunch, and Steve asks questions about Tony’s father, his parents, his ideas, and not just ideas that might benefit the team. Big things. _Everything_. They go to dinner and split a dessert, and still Steve doesn’t ask for anything, and he doesn’t turn away. Steve doesn’t rush Tony up to bed, either. No, he pulls him in, gives him a kiss so sweet Tony’s heart feels like it might be splintering away, piece by piece, at the sheer kindness of Steve Rogers. Then he smiles at Tony and wishes him a goodnight. Just like that.

They do sleep together, eventually. Hot and heady and _perfect_, and Tony feels tears threatening, inexplicably, because that’s it, it’s over now. Perfect Steve and his blond hair and smile that can unite nations; they’d had fun. 

They catch their breath, and Tony wastes no time scrambling away from Steve. Shirt, pants, shoes, belt; he always makes a silent inventory as he discards his clothes, it makes for a quick getaway. And he needs a quick getaway, else he might really lose himself and go and cry all over Steve Rogers’ soft-smelling flannel sheets. 

Tony has one foot to the floor when he feels it, Steve’s hand on his wrist. 

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, his voice rough and tired, half muffled by a pillow, and Tony has to swallow four times before he can reply.

“Perfect. I’m just… I’m gonna go.”

Steve scrambles up then, leaning on an elbow, and tightening his hold on Tony, almost imperceptibly. “Go? But… don’t you want to, I don’t know, stay? You can… I thought I’d make us breakfast in the morning.” And Steve looks wounded by this, the idea that Tony might slink off into the night, but then he looks at him. Really _looks_ and says, quietly, “_Oh_.”

And fuck, if Tony isn’t crying then. 

“Tony. Can I… hold your hand?” Steve asks quietly,

_Can I hold your hand?_ It echoes through Tony, filling him, and he manages to nod. Steve threads their fingers together and stares down at them.

“I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but if you did want to? Stay, I mean. I want that,” Steve says very quietly, but very determinedly. He lets the words hang between them for a moment, before Tony nods again. It feels good. It’s a good choice, he knows because he feels something deep inside him exhale and settle down, and Steve smiles at him, then nods back before holding out an arm for Tony to slip beneath. 

And Tony lets him. He lets Steve pull him down, settle him against his chest and match their breathing, and then Steve’s hands are everywhere, touching and holding him so carefully that Tony shudders, like he’s never been touched before. But then maybe he hadn’t, not like this, not by someone who matters. Not by Steve.


	113. classic avengers movie night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt asking for a classic avengers movie night + snuggling

Tony feels more than hears Steve’s voice on the back of his neck, shivering lightly at the soft touch of breath on skin. “You know, this is supposed to be relaxing,” Steve is saying, and when Tony looks over at him his eyes are worried. “You’re so tense.”

Tony makes a face and tries to shrug him off, turning back to the screen, to the mundane argument Nat and Bruce are having about what to watch next, but he can still feel Steve’s eyes on him. He turns back around, his eyes finding Steve’s, and he knows that Steve can see it, the weight of the day and how it’s hanging on him. The fight with the board, how Pepper gave him hell for being late to a meeting, how Peter had to cancel their plans for lunch… Nothing _horrible_ had happened, Tony knows he has no real reason to be so grumpy, but… But sometimes the little things piled up and left him wanting to pout on the couch, and he thinks Steve should let him to pout in peace, _thank you very much. _

But before he can say as much, Steve lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder, warm and heavy and sure. 

“Breathe with me,” Steve tells him, and Tony decides that it can’t hurt, right, breathing along with Steve while a movie plays? So he sighs a little, then focuses on the soft rise and fall of Steve’s chest beside him, a steady in and out, and his eyes slip shut at the rhythm. Tony’s shoulders fall, lax, and the wrinkles he knows had gathered on his forehead start to unfurl. When he opens his eyes, he’s a little lighter all over, and Steve’s still there, smiling at him. 

“See? Didn’t that help?” Steve asks with a happy little nod. 

Tony gives a non committal grunt, but he isn’t fast enough to hide the start of a smile from Steve, who just shakes his head knowingly.

“I’d be better if…” Tony tugs on Steve’s arm, a silent question, and he obliges, lifting his arms for Tony to slide beneath, then letting one hand settle on Tony’s waist while the other combs through his hair. Tony can feel himself mellowing, letting the stress of the day fade further away with every stroke of Steve’s fingers through his hair. 

_God_.

There’s yoga and meditation, a million and one essential oils, all kinds of things designed to help people relax, but nothing ever helped like just… _being_ with Steve. He’s warm and solid and home in a way no one else ever has been, and Tony can just turn it all off. His brain doesn’t have to go a million miles an hour; with Steve he can just _be_. 

“Better?” Steve asks, nosing through the soft hair at the nape of Tony’s neck. He drops careful kisses as he goes, quietly setting Tony’s day to rights.

Tony exhales and closes his eyes, letting everything fall away as Steve’s arms circle his waist. “Much.”


	114. merry & bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: iron man 3 Tony wearing a santa outfit over the armor and delivering toys to kids

About six months ago, Steve met Tony Stark, Iron Man himself, for the first time. It was at the tail end of a twelve-hour shift, and Steve still remembers how he had to blink a few times, making sure it really  _ was _ him. Steve had been on his feet for so long at that point he wouldn’t have been surprised if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But, no, it really was Tony Stark, billionaire superhero, surrounded by a group of children who seemed captivated by the book he was reading to them. Steve had smiled, given him a shy little wave, and went on his way. Typically, he would have stuck around, but that night, his bed was calling him. 

After that, though, the kids on his floor starting asking about Tony with increasing frequency.  _ The nice man who reads the books, they called him. The nice man who talks fast and tells jokes. The nice man who… _ Eventually, Steve was hearing so much about him that he had to introduce himself. Unfortunately for Steve, though, he’d always been awkward with these things, tripping over his feet and babbling just a little too long. Maybe it was how much time he spent with kids that caused him to stumble over words when confronted with adults for any length of time. Most likely, though, it was the soft glint in Tony Stark’s brown eyes that did Steve in, or the perfect curl of his hair. And if not that, then it was definitely the way Tony made  _ everyone _ feel special, no matter how little or sick or young. 

“The kids love you,” Tony said upon meeting Steve. “Talk about you all the time.” 

It was funny, because if the kids loved anyone, it was Tony, and Steve explained as much. 

“They adore you, too. The stories you tell… You bring their favorite books to life, take their minds off their situation, just for an afternoon. It’s magic, what you do for them,” Steve said in a moment of heartfelt honesty. He’d do anything for his patients, but it was rare, in a hospital as over-full and under-staffed as his, to find people who felt the same way. Tony did, though, that much became clearer with every visit. 

“Well, if I can make the magic happen, I’d like to keep trying,” Tony winked at him one afternoon just after Thanksgiving. Steve had blushed at the time, but looking back, he imagined that this was where the Iron Santa idea started to take hold in Tony’s mind. 

And Tony did visit regularly, always offering to help parents with transportation, and bringing stacks of books and toys with every visit. Tony told Steve once that he knew his money helped the most, but he liked to think that  _ he _ helped, too.  _ I like showing up _ , he’d explained, and Steve had been too bashful to assure him that his presence certainly made  _ Steve’s _ day every time, so he was positive the families felt the same way. Instead, Steve had flushed and thanked Tony for coming back despite his busy schedule. 

Steve had never been great at giving voice to the things  _ he _ wanted most.

A few weeks later, the halls of the hospital were decorated in bright, multi-colored lights, the walls adorned with hand-drawn pictures of Santa and thoughtfully penned Christmas lists; Christmas Eve night was upon them. No one should have to spend Christmastime in a hospital, Steve thought bleakly. The parents broke his heart, without fail, every year. The way they lugged bags of presents, bought with money they didn’t have, and perched them on the beds of children who wanted, more than anything, just to be home for the holidays, hurt him to see. 

And then, of course, there were the families who struggled to make ends meet at all, and who, Steve knew, were putting everything they had into their child’s care. Perhaps because Steve had been sick so often as a kid himself, had watched his own mother stitch a smile to her face day after after, that Steve wanted to go above and beyond for these families. They were the reason he’d talked the hospital board into allowing him to paint lively murals on the formerly drab gray wall, bringing them to life with stories and song lyrics he knew the kids would like. He was, of course, one of only three staff members who volunteered to come in on one of his days off to string Christmas lights and decorate, filling small stockings with hospital-approved candy.

If people had to spend their holiday season in a hospital, Steve was going to fill it with as much joy as possible. 

He just hadn’t planned on having help. 

Steve didn’t know he  _ had _ help until Emily, a little girl in pigtails, tugged on his arm as he turned to leave her room after dinner on Christmas Eve.

“Mr. Steve, do you think Mr. Iron Man is coming to my room, too?” She asked, her eyes are as bright and hopeful as Steve could ever recall seeing them. 

“Mr. Iron Man?” He repeated, confused. He knew Tony visited, of course, but he wasn’t sure the kids had made that connection, and Tony certainly wasn’t going to broadcast it himself. 

“Julia down the hall said Mr. Iron Man is here dressed up like Santa, and that he has presents for  _ everyone _ ,” Emily explained eagerly. “Joey said she’s lying, but she  _ saw _ him, Mr. Steve, and she had a brand new doll and everything that looked just like her and it had an outfit and I… I wanna see Santa,” she finished quietly. 

Steve gave her his best smile, nodding. “I’m sure Julia’s right, okay? But let me just go make sure, how’s that?” 

Steve would find a Santa costume himself if he had to, he decided then and there, but he wouldn’t be the one to dash Emily’s hopes of seeing Santa. The Iron Man part might be harder, sure, but....

Just then, though, a loud, jolly ‘Ho, ho, ho!’ interrupted Steve’s plans, and Iron Man himself, decked out in an elaborate Santa suit complete with a hat and beard over the armor, appeared in Emily’s doorway. She squealed in ecstatic joy. 

“Mr. Steve! I knew he was here, I  _ knew _ he would come!” She cried, extending her arms toward Tony and grinning. She shifted in her bed, and before Steve could admonish her, Tony spoke again, his voice disguised in the armor. 

“Whoa, there! Merry Christmas! Have you been a good girl for Nurse Rogers? Staying in bed and listening as best you can?” 

“Yes!” Emily went immediately still in her bed and nodded solemnly. 

“Nurse Steve?” Tony asks, so playfully Steve could swear he could  _ see _ the twinkle in his eyes, despite them being hidden behind the faceplate. 

“Oh, she’s been wonderful. Definitely deserving of…”

“An American Girl doll?” Tony asked, pulling a doll, complete with a bow, from the massive bag behind his back.

“Yes! Thank you! Wait until I show Mom and Julia!” Emily can’t keep the smile from her face, and Steve was dangerously close to tearing up in front of his patient. 

“See, I knew he would come,” Steve managed to say, somewhat thickly. Emily was too distracted hugging Iron Man, then hugging her doll, to take note of the emotion playing across Steve’s face, though. 

Once Emily said her goodbyes and her thank yous, Steve followed Tony into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind them. 

“Tony,” Steve said, a bit more composed than he’d been a few minutes ago. “Thank you. You’re making their Christmas, you know that, right?”

Tony nodded, slowly. “I know. It’s a good thing I have this,” Tony taps lightly on his faceplate. “Otherwise the waterworks might never stop. I’m trusting you with that secret, Mr. Steve,” Tony said when Steve doesn’t respond, and instead worries at his eyes once again.

“You’re making their Christmas, too, you know,” Tony continued, because Steve was apparently destined to spend his whole shift in tears. “You  _ are.  _ I have plenty of other rooms to hit tonight, but if you’re around, I think the elves packed one more surprise in here for you, if you’re interested,” Tony said playfully, making Steve’s cheeks heat nervously. 

_ One more surprise? Like...  _ Steve doesn’t let his mind wander too far, though he was convinced all over again that he can see the wink Tony gives from beneath his armor.

“I think I can wait,” Steve managed to say through the flush on his cheeks.

“Perfect. Merry Christmas, Steve.” With that, Tony is off, on his way to make more kids smile, leaving Steve with the hope that his own Christmas wish might just come true, too. 


	115. you didn't have to get me anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a long time, Tony hated Christmas.

For a long time, Tony hated the holidays. Christmas was about family and loved ones, and his own parents died in mid-December, so for most of his twenties and thirties, Tony associated the typically joyous holiday season with death, with loss, with the general overcast gray color that arrived full force every December. For Tony, that cold, desolate first month of winter was almost always spent with a bottle of something that burned on the way down and a whole lot of self-loathing. 

Then one year, picking through the pile of mail a faceless staff member had left in his study, Tony came across a thank you letter from an orphanage. They’re usually form letters, these things, but this one was handwritten and wrinkled, written from the heart, that much was clear. Tony read it once, then again, tears falling hot down his cheeks before he’d even registered the emotion rippling through him.

He hadn’t even known he’d donated. His thoughtless check had impacted this person, this  _ place _ so deeply, and Tony didn’t even know it had happened. He felt despicable, a veritable Ebeneezer Scrooge, for spending every Christmas hating himself, hating everything around him, entirely numb to the fact that other people were suffering, too. Tony left the letter on his desk and forced himself up the stairs and into the shower, determined to use his own loss to fuel some good, however he could. 

Now, spending Christmas at St. Mary’s Orphanage is one of the great joys of Tony’s year. The staff have come to know and love him, and he’s always happy not to recognize kids from one year to the next. It meant they’d found a home of their own, more people to love them, and that’s all he could hope for them. In the meantime, though, Tony put on a kind of twelve days of Christmas celebration every year, with donations and dinners, toys and books for the kids. How many hours had he spent, reading to squealing five year olds? How many babies had he rocked to sleep, dressed warmly in the onesies he’d brought? He’d lost count a long time ago. 

This year, Steve asks Tony if he could use an extra hand, his blue eyes sparkling and nervous, and Tony nods, smiling. They can always use more help, but of course, Tony always wants an excuse to spend more time with Steve outside the tower or the battle field. They’ve had more of those times lately, but this is different, special. This is the family Christmas tradition Tony never had, and who better to share it with than Steve? Steve, who is sweet and shy but also stubborn and infuriatingly witty, though, Tony knows, he’s also struggling, also without his family, and still he’s here, asking Tony how he can help. 

“That’d be great, Cap, thanks. You want to give me a hand bringing all this stuff over?” Tony gestures to the piles of boxes of gifts that fill the foyer. 

“I can do that,” Steve agrees, lifting boxes and bringing them out to the truck waiting outside. 

*

The kids lose their minds at the sight of Captain America strolling through their door, and for once, Steve seems at ease at the attention. He tells elaborate stories, helps build Lego sets, he even attempts to read to the kids, but the overwhelming consensus is that Tony does the best voices, and so the torch is returned, and Tony reads the story of Buddy the Elf in his jolliest voice. 

“Thank God,” Tony says when they catch a moment alone in the kitchen, “I thought you were going to outshine me there, Steve. They  _ love _ you. And I saw Susan eyeing you up when you were bringing the boxes in.” Tony wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

Steve flushes. “She was  _ not _ . And besides, we’re here to do some good and… it really feels like we are. Thanks for letting me join you, Tony. I know how much this place means to you.”

Tony nods, just barely resisting the urge to reach over and smooth the wrinkle between Steve’s eyebrows with a finger, hook his thumbs through the beltloops of those stupid, dad-looking jeans he’s always wearing, and pull him in for a kiss. 

There’s gotta be mistletoe around here somewhere, right? 

But, no. Steve was right. His feelings aren’t the point.

“So, same time tomorrow?” Steve asks hopefully, surprising him once again.

“It’s a date,” Tony says, not one bit as nonchalant as he hopes. 

Steve beams, opening the door for him as they step out into the cold December air and head for home.

*

“Tony, I knew you put a lot into Christmas Eve, but this is…” Steve looks around in wonder, taking in the halls transformed with Christmas decorations, the tree, and the elaborate Christmas dinner on the table. 

“You had to have planned this for months,” he says.

“Since September,” Tony admits. “Sometimes it feels like the least I can do, you know? This place changed my life.”

“It did?” Steve asks, surprised. 

“I kind of… hated Christmas for a long time there. Well, I hated just about everything for a while there. Family, warmth, gifts, none of that appealed to me for years. Then I got a letter from someone here, thanking me for a donation Pepper’s predecessor must’ve made for me, and it was basically the wake up call I didn’t know I needed. There I was, pouting, when there were kids suffering, kids without parents, people putting so much of themselves into a place, even though they knew it would never be enough. I’ve been coming here ever since then. Just about ten years now,” Tony realizes only as he says it. He pauses, watching a complicated series of emotions flicker across Steve’s face. 

“Sorry,” Tony says. “That was… a lot at once.” 

But Steve doesn’t look deterred. If anything he looks…  _ fond. _ “No, don’t be,” he says eventually. “It’s wonderful, what you’re doing here. I…” Steve stops, takes a deep, shuddery breath, then continues. 

“I have something… I mean, I have something I wanted to give you. And I know we aren’t here for this, but I’ve been wanting to for a while now, and I think if I don’t do it now, I’ll chicken out and never will. I’m the king of waiting too long, after all.” Steve smiles, lopsided, and rubs his neck, which is flushed a splotchy pink. Tony notices. It does something soft and fluttery to his stomach to see it. “Sorry, that was… also a lot,” Steve continues.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Tony says immediately, though his mind is turning itself in knots at Steve’s words. Should he have gotten Steve something? Something more than misplaced feelings and hopes that his silly Christmas wish might come true?. 

Around them, the evening is winding down. The kids sleeping, waiting for Santa. The staff has mostly gone upstairs to tend to bedtime tasks now that most of the mess is cleaned up, and here they are, in the dimly lit kitchen on Christmas Eve, lights still twinkling, the fire just about gone out, and Tony suddenly feels like he’s five years old, waiting in bed for that Christmas magic.

“Thanks again for letting me come with you these last few days,” Steve says quietly. He’s looking at Tony with so much feeling his breath catches in his throat. 

“Of course,” Tony says quickly. “Everyone loved having you here.” 

“Everyone,” Steve repeats, just the hint of a question in his voice. “You, too?” 

_ Ah.  _ There it is. Moment of truth. 

“Me probably more so than anyone. I love it here, and I love… spending time with you. To get to do that here, on Christmas Eve? I can only assume I’ve been very good this year to deserve it.”

“You’re always good, Tony,” Steve tells him, though he’s suddenly much closer than Tony realized—when had  _ that _ happened? Steve’s close and so warm and he’s looking at Tony like he might just—

Steve’s lips are on Tony’s before he can complete the thought, and then all he can do is react. He’s too stunned and over the moon with joy for there to be any real technique to it, just enthusiastic lips and tongues finding each other in the moment, and Steve’s hands seem to be  _ everywhere _ all at once. Tony makes a mental note to ask if that’s a super soldier thing or just a  _ Steve thing _ because Steve’s hands are a thing of beauty, running through his hair and somehow holding him firmly, pressing them together deliciously. Steve’s hands are perfect. Wonderful. Delivered to Tony by Santa himself, probably. 

Tony loses himself in his ridiculous thoughts and Steve’s mouth, warm against his own, until he’s breathless, both of them smiling like loons. 

Steve rests his forehead against Tony’s, one beautiful hand pressed against Tony’s cheek, holding him gently. “Merry Christmas, Tony,” he says. 

Tony smiles, looks around, and takes Steve’s hand in his. It really  _ is _ the best time of the year.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm omg-just-peachy on tumblr, come say hi!


End file.
